i 


j 


SO 


BERTRAND  SMITHS 
ACRES  OF  " 

14O  PACIFIC  ,,/ENUE 


BY  THE  TIBER. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"SIGNOR  MONALDINI'S  NIECE.' 


'  CAINA     ATTENDS.' 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1881. 


Copyright,  1881, 
By  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  : 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

MR.   J.    C.   HOOKER 


IS     GRATEFULLY     DEDICATED     BY     THE     AUTHOR. 


Rome,  January,  1881. 


2061819 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  *« 

I.    A  FAIRY  STORY  .    .    . 1 

II.    FELICITA  INFELICE  . 3 

III.      VlTTORIO 8 

IV.    UNDER  THE  ROSE 15 

V.    ORANGE-BUDS 22 

VI.    APPLE-BLOSSOMS 32 

VII.    CASA  PASSARINA 35 

VIII.    A  FAMILY  MEETING 47 

IX.    AMONG  THE  NERI .  55 

X.    KATE  CROMO 65 

XI.  BLACK    SPIRITS  AND  WHITE,   BLUE    SPIRITS 

AND  GRAY 75 

XII.    TRYING  TO  BE  "Gooo" .  97 

XIII.  FLITTING 104 

XIV.  WITH  MOTHER  NATURE 118 

XV.    ROSA  PRENESTINA    .    ". 129 

XVI.  COUNTRY  LIFE r  .  .  137 

XVII,  " SWEET  HOME" 148 

XVIIL  A  GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW 166 

XIX.  REJECTED  HELP 178 

XX.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END 196 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  .  PAGB 

XXI.    SOLE  IN  LEONE 214 

XXII.    IN  A  WHEAT-FIELD 230 

XXIII.  ON  THE  SEA 241 

XXIV.  UNDER  THE  PASSION-FLOWERS 250 

XXV.    ROBACCIA  DI  ROMA 256 

XXVI.    THE  CLICK  OF  A  LOCK 264 

XXVII.    LA  CARITA  ROMANA 279 

XXVIII.    THE  WITNESSES 291 

XXIX.    MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT 300 

XXX.    UNMASKING 316 

XXXI.    DE  PROFUNDIS 333 

XXXII.    FOUR-LEAVED  CLOVERS 346 

XXXIII.  IN  THE  NET 349 

XXXIV.  HOME  AGAIN 369 

XXXV.  "SAID  THE  NORTH  TO  THE  SOUTH".        .  386 


BY    THE   TIBER. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

A   FAIRY   STORY. 

OXCE  upon  a  time,  as  a  royal  exile  who  was  vis- 
iting Eome  rode  out  with  his  friends  to  the 
chase,  they  passed  a  certain  rude  stone  house  set  in 
a  vineyard.  This  house  had  been  a  sepulchre  in 
ancient  times;  but  the  dust  of  the  dead  was  blown 
away,  and  the  vase  which  had  held  it  was  set  in  a 
museum,  and  the  marbles  that  had  adorned  it  were  torn 
off  to  ornament  the  palaces  of  the  living,  and  over  its 
crumbling  foundations  had  been  built  a  new  house 
wherein  dwelt  Gigi,  the  vine-dresser,  with  his  daugh- 
ter Felicita  and  her  step-mother,  Nanna. 

It  was  a  rough  place  ;  but  the  poppies  grew  brill- 
iantly all  about  its  foundations,  and  wall-flowers  nod- 
ded out  of  reach  above,  and  an  ivy-vine  crept  up,  stone 
by  stone,  and  draped  itself  around  a  small  square 
window  set  close  beside  the  only  remaining  skeleton 
window  of  the  ruin.  This  window  opened  on  a  nar- 
row road  of  the  Agro  Romano;  and  when  the  chase 
went  by  in  the  early  morning,  there  was  a  face 
framed  in  its  cornice  of  leaves.  Felicita  looked  out 
at  the  horsemen,  and  laughed  and  blushed  when  they 
all  looked  up  at  her.  Whe'n  the  prince  took  off  his 
hat  to  her  she  only  laughed  and  blushed  the  more, 
and  no  more  thought  of  saluting  him  than  she  would 


2  BY  THE   TIBER. 

have  thought  of  saluting  the  sun  when  it  burned  her 
face. 

After  they  had  passed,  one  looked  back  and  drank 
that  face  of  hers  with  thirsty  eyes  ;  and  Felicita 
looked  after  him  across  the  dark  green  vines.  When 
he  was  hidden  from  her  eyes  by  a  turn  of  the  road,  a 
miracle  of  nature  was  wrought  in  the  girl ;  for  her 
heart,  knocking  strongly  at  some  hitherto  unopened 
door  of  her  soul,  wakened  her  dormant  imagination, 
that  sprang  like  a  butterfly  from  the  chrysalis ;  so 
that,  leaning  from  her  window,  she  still  saw  the  gal- 
lant cavalier  on  his  roan  steed,  and  knew  that  his 
flashing  eyes  were  as  black  as  carbon,  and  that  his 
swarthy  cheek  kept  the  vivid  color  that  had  kindled 
at  her  glance. 

The  girl's  face  was  worth  looking  back  to  see, 
though  its  outlines  were  not  perfect.  A  wealth  of 
shining  black  hair  was  braided  into  a  coronet  about 
her  beautiful  head,  and  her  eyes  were  large,  brown, 
and  sparkling.  For  the  color  of  her  soft,  full  face 
and  neck,  it  would  have  looked  pink  if  you  had  held 
an  orange-blossom  to  it,  but,  cheek  to  cheek  with  a 
red  rose,  it  showed  pure  white.  Then  her  blushes 
were  always  coming  and  going,  —  soft,  light  blushes 
that  were  not  a  flame,  but  only  the  light  of  a  flame. 

So  Felicita  looked  after  the  unknown  cavalier,  and 
thought  of  him  till  she  forgot  to  laugh  and  jest  as 
usual  when  Marco  Bandini  came  to  see  her  that 
evening.  Marco  was  her  promised  husband,  and 
they  were  to  be  married  the  next  Easter.  Gigi  and 
Nanna  had  arranged  the  marriage,  and  she  was  con- 
tent with  it ;  for  Marco  was  gardener  in  a  neighbor- 
ing villa,  and  had  put  a  pile  of  golden  scudi  in  the 
great  bank  at  Rome. 

But  now  new  fancies  began  to  flutter  through  the 
girl's  life,  —  fancies  simple  and  innocent  at  first,  like 
the  little  white  butterflies  that  go  fanning  about  in 


FELICITY    INFELICE.  3 

early  spring.     But  summer  hastens  after  spring,  and 
the  butterflies  of  July  have  painted  wings. 

One  day  Felicita  disappeared  and  left  no  trace. 


CHAPTER   II. 
FELICITA.  INFELICE. 

THE  father  and  Marco  searched,  of  course ;  but 
they  might  as  well  have  searched  for  the  dust 
of  the  dead  whose  home  they  had  invaded.  They 
raved,  of  course ;  but  they  might  as  well  have  raved 
against  the  wind  that  bore  that  dust  away.  The 
mocking  smile,  the  cold  surprise,  the  helpless  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  which  met  their  questions,  were 
utterly  baffling  Namia,  threatened  by  both,  and 
beaten  by  her  husband,  called  on  all  the  saints  to  wit- 
ness that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  girl's  abduction  or 
flight. 

Gigi  raved  himself  to  death.  He  was  very  nearly  a 
beast,  this  vine-dresser, — dull  and  easy-humored  when 
all  went  well,  and  lashing  himself  into  a  blind  fury 
when  he  was  crossed  ;  and  his  fury,  having  nothing 
else  to  spend  itself  upon,  turned  its  poison  backward, 
and  gave  him  a  paralytic  stroke.  He  might  have 
recovered  had  he  chosen  to  keep  quiet ;  but  with 
returning  health  came  returning  passion,  and  a  sec- 
ond stroke  followed  the  first  one.  Only  when  death 
was  at  hand  did  the  beast  in  him  lie  down,  and  some- 
thing of  higher  calm  look  out  of  his  eyes. 

And  then,  at  last,  Felicita,  the  ghost  of  herself, 
came  stealing  in  one  evening,  and  sank  sobbing  on 
her  knees  by  his  bedside,  .and  dropped  a  purse  of 
gold  into  his  chilling  hand.  He  asked  no  questions, 
and  she  told  no  tales.  His  hand  let  slip  the  gold, 


4  BY  THE   TIBER. 

motioned  to  touch  her  bowed  head,  and  fell  short  of 
it.  And  then  death  blindfolded  him,  and  took  him 
away  to  other  scenes. 

When  all  was  over,  Nanna  whispered  a  sharp  ques- 
tion into  the  girl's  ear,  and  received  a  sobbing  answer. 
"  He  is  sick,  and  his  mother  and  sisters  came  and  sent 
me  away.  He  is  sorry  that  he  took  me.  He  will 
die." 

Nanna  went  herself  to  see  if  the  story  were  true, 
and  was  driven  away  with  contumely.  She  had  to 
be  content  with  the  gold  that  Felicita  had  brought ; 
she  took  it,  and  they  lived  on  together. 

Marco  kept  away  from  them.  Had  her  father  been 
living,  her  lover  would  have  wished  to  kill  Felicita ; 
but  Gigi's  death  had  fallen  like  a  frost  upon  his  wrath, 
and  he  let  her  alone.  He  kept  a  constant  watch  upon 
her,  though.  There  was  a  certain  point  in  the  wall 
of  the  villa  whence  he  could  see  the  green  door  with 
rough  gray  steps  leading  up  to  it,  and  the  window 
with  the  ivy,  and  a  slope  of  grass  with  a  solitary 
cypress  standing  above  it.  Day  after  day  he  watched, 
but  caught  no  glimpse  of  her,  till,  when  weeks  had 
passed,  he  began  to  long  for  the  sight  of  her  with 
other  feelings  than  those  of  jealous  anger ;  and  when 
weeks  had  multiplied,  he  came  to  think  that,  if  but 
she  would  ask  him,  he  would  forgive  her  anything. 

At  last,  as  he  gazed  at  her  window  one  morning  in 
the  spring,  Felicita  appeared  there  with  an  infant  in 
her  arms,  and  stood  framed  in  the  ivy.  His  heart 
leaped  to  her  so  gladly  that  it  took  in  even  the  child. 
Standing  there  with  the  little  one  nestled  into  her 
neck,  she  seemed  to  say  to  him,  We  are  inseparable. 
If  you  take  one,  you  must  take  both. 

It  was  an  apparition.  She  stayed  only  long  enough 
to  say  so  much. 

Marco  returned  to  his  work ;  but  sunset  found  him 
again  on  guard,  and  again  rewarded. 


FELICITA    INFELICE,  5 

This  time  Felicita  stood  in  the  open  door,  and 
looked  out  on  the  road  to  right  and  left,  as  if  to  see 
if  any  one  were  within  sight.  It  was  a  still,  bright 
evening,  burnished  with  a  sunset  that  made  the  very 
turf  look  like  cloth  of  gold.  The  climbing  ivy  above 
her  head  pushed  a  few  leaf-tips  out  of  the  shade  and 
lighted  them  like  lamps.  The  cypress,  impervious  to 
the  sunshine,  glowed  sullenly  on  its  westward  side, 
and  stretched  a  long  pointed  shadow,  shaped  like  a 
dagger,  down  the  shining  green. 

"  L'  she  comes  out,  I  will  take  her ! "  said  Marco, 
breathlessly. 

Felicita  hesitated,  clasped  her  babe  closer,  then 
came  out  slowly,  step  by  step,  walked  across  the 
green,  and  seated  herself  in  the  shadow  of  the  cy- 
press. Sitting  there  motionless,  she  looked  like  the 
figure  of  a  woman  damaskeened  on  a  sword-blade. 

A  month  later  she  and  Marco  were  married.  She 
gave  herself  to  him  willingly  enough,  threw  herself 
away  on  him,  indeed,  as  a  thing  no  longer  of  any 
value.  He  gave  up  his  place,  bade  the  step-mother 
never  come  near  them,  and  took  Felicita  and  her 
child  to  a  new  home.  This  was  a  deserted  villa  away 
among  the  Sabine  mountains,  in  a  hidden  spot  above 
which  Palestrina  climbs  the  height  where  once  stood 
the  temple  of  Fortune,  Fortunce  Sanctce,  and  of  the 
infant  Jove,  where  the  broken  olive-tree  ran  with 
honey  and  oil,  and  the  ever-burning  lamp  under  its 
loi'ty  arch  warned  the  distant  mariners  off  the  Tiro- 
nian  shore  to  worship  the  goddess  of  the  sea. 

Felicita  went  unresistingly  ;  but  as  she  went,  the 
weight  of  every  milestone  they  passed  was  added  to 
her  heart.  She  performed  her  duties  faithfully  in 
that  green  solitude  to  which  her  husband  had  brought 
her,  but  she  seldom  smiled,  or  seemed  interested 
in  anything  but  her  child.  She  would  bend  over 
the  babe  for  hours,  gazing  down  into  his  face  as  one 


6  BY  THE    TIBER. 

may  gaze  into  a  deep  lake  down  which  some  price- 
less, irrecoverable  treasure  has  sunk,  and  now  and 
then  her  eyes  would  light  up  suddenly  for  a  moment 
as  if  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  lost  delight. 

One  might  have  believed  that  her  husband  would 
be  jealous;  but  he  showed  no  sign  of  displeasure.  He, 
too,  had  his  dreams,  not  of  a  fleeting  s\veetness  sunk 
forever  in  the  past,  but  of  a  glorious  future  when  the 
earth  should  no  longer  be  the  possession  of  a  few,  but 
for  mankind,  and  when  every  man  should  dare  to 
speak  his  boldest  thought  without  fear  of  imprison- 
ment or  exile. 

To  this  man,  whose  passionate  intelligence  had 
burst  the  crust  of  the  contadino  without  taking  on 
the  still  harder  shell  of  conventionality,  a  king  or 
ruler  was  but  a  man  raised  on  the  will  of  the  people, 
and  sustained  on  that  will,  like  a  ball  tossing  on  the 
top  of  a  fountain-jet,  which  may  at  any  moment  with- 
draw and  let  it  roll  into  obscurity,  or  be  crushed  under- 
foot. 

Let  Felicita  caress  and  pamper  her  child,  then,  and 
teach  him  to  scorn  a  common  life,  and  whisper  to 
him  that  his  dead  father  had  been  the  companion 
of  kings.  Later,  when  the  young  mind  should  begin 
to  awaken,  he,  too,  would  help  to  train  the  boy, 
would  use  his  daintinesses  and  his  disdains  for  a 
purpose  worthy  of  them.  The  two  streams  of  blood 
in  his  veins  should  never  unite ;  they  should  forever 
foam  and  fret  against  each  other  till  they  filled  him 
with  a  hatred  more  intense  than  any  mere  contadino 
could  feel. 

Meantime  he  meant  to  make  a  gardener  of  him, 
not  a  mere  workman  but  an  artist ;  and  he  employed 
a  young  teacher  from  the  seminary  in  the  town  to 
come  down  for  an  hour  every  day  and  instruct  the 
little  Vittorio,  since  the  mother  was  not  willing  to 
send  him  to  school. 


FELICITA    INFELICE.  7 

"  A  boy  who  has  been  taught  reading,  writing,  and 
Latin  ought  to  be  able  to  learn  the  rest  himself," 
said  Marco.  "  I  will  teach  him  botany;  and  he  will 
have  a  chance  to  see  gardens  when  he  is  older." 

When  Vittorio  was  five  years  old  his  mother  died 
in  giving  birth  to  a  daughter. 

Marco  found  a  trusty  nurse  for  the  two  little  ones, 
and  went  steadily  on  with  his  work,  his  imagination 
meantime  digging  under  the  debris  of  ruined  gov- 
ernments to  find  the  golden  foundations  of  a  lost 
paradise. 

"  It  is  long  in  coming,"  he  said  to  Garibaldi,  who 
came  to  his  house  more  than  once. 

"  Patience  !  "  replied  the  soldier.  "  Patience  and 
faith !  When  you  see  the  aurora,  you  may  be  sure 
that  the  day  is  coming.  The  spirit  of  freedom 
does  not  rest,  nor  turn  back,  any  more  than  the 
sun  does,  when  once  it  has  set  its  face  toward  a 
people." 

"  If  only  I  could  talk  as  you  do  ! "  said  Marco, 
gazing  admiringly  at  his  hero.  "  If  only  I  had  the 
gift  of  stirring  people  up  !  But  I  can  only  speak 
in  such  a  fury  that  people  shut  their  hearts  against 
my  words,  as  they  shut  their  windows  against  a 
tempest." 

"  Be  silent  then,"  said  Garibaldi,  smiling.  "  Acts 
are  better  than  words.  You  may  not  know  the  fa- 
mous old  law  of  the  joust  and  tournament :  '  The  lance 
does  not  liberate  the  sword,  but  the  sword  liberates 
the  lance.'  All  the  words  we  can  utter  do  not  free  us 
from  the  duty  of  acting  when  the  time  comes;  and 
one  good  blow  for  the  right  will  cover  the  silence  of 
a  life." 

"  I  am  going  to  be  a  soldier,"  said  a  clear,  sweet 
voice  beside  the  two.  "Marco  has  given  me  a 
sword." 

"  Bravo,  little  Duke ! "  said  Garibaldi,  turning  to 


8  BY  THE    TIBER. 

the  child.  "And  whom  are  you  going  to  fight 
against  ? " 

"  Traitors,"  replied  Vittorio,  unsheathing  his  toy 
sword  and  looking  up  into  the  questioner's  face  with 
brilliant,  serious  eyes. 

"  He 's  a  good  bit  of  steel,"  said  the  soldier ;  and, 
giving  him  a  light  blow  on  the  cheek,  added,  "  That 
is  your  confirmation." 


CHAPTER  III. 

VITTOEIO. 

YEAES  passed,  and  Vittorio  more  than  answered 
his  step-father's  expectations.  He  was  beauti- 
ful in  person  and  refined  in  tastes,  and  the  hate  that 
had  been  nourished  in  his  soul  was  to  the  hate  of 
Marco  what  the  spirit  of  a  high-mettled  horse  is  to 
that  of  a  mule.  He  was  becoming  too  restive,  indeed, 
and  the  quiet  and  solitude  of  his  villa  life  were  irri- 
tating him  so  much  that  he  welcomed  the  prospect 
of  other  employment  than  that  of  merely  helping 
Marco. 

A  friend  of  Marco's,  the  gardener  in  Villa  Cesarini, 
in  Genzano,  sent  for  Vittorio  to  come  to  him  on  a 
certain  day  of  the  summer  which  completed  his 
twenty-fourth  year.  A  Neapolitan  prince,  who  had 
just  bought  a  large  villa  within  the  walls  of  Rome, 
was  coming  to  see  the  Cesariui  gardens.  He  wanted 
a  gardener ;  and  if  the  young  man  would  be  on  the 
spot  when  he  made  his  visit,  the  situation  might  be 
procured  for  him. 

"  I  would  rather  meet  him  there  in  the  open  air 
than  go  to  see  him  in  Rome,"  Vittorio  said.  "  I  will 
not  wait  in  any  man's  anteroom,  nor  stand,  cap 


VITTORIO.  9 

in  hand,  while  he  sits  talking  to  me.  I  should  be 
sure  to  do  something  that  would  make  him  refuse 
me." 

There  was  little  likelihood  of  Vittorio's  being 
refused  for  any  other  reason  than  a  want  of  hu- 
mility, for  he  had  studied  his  art  with  the  pas- 
sion with  which  such  a  nature  turns  to  the  one 
pleasure  and  distraction  possible  to  it.  He  could 
not  be  intimate  with  gentlemen,  he  would  not  asso- 
ciate with  contadini,  and  he  therefore  made  himself 
intimate  with  nature.  He  studied  the  ways  and 
habits  of  plants,  their  virtues  and  vices,  their  laws 
and  their  histories.  All  his  soul,  poetic,  fiery,  ambi- 
tious, and  outraged,  having  no  human  consolation, 
turned  to  the  flowers,  and  found  in  them  a  fair  new 
world  wherein  he  was  not  without  honor.  The 
flowers  tried  to  please  Vittorio,  Marco  said.  And, 
indeed,  he  was  notable  for  his  success  with  them. 

He  set  out  early  one  summer  morning  for  Genzano, 
.making  the  last  part  of  the  journey,  from  Albano,  on 
foot,  glad  of  a  walk  which  might  a  little  quiet  his 
nervous  agitation.  He  had  resolved  to  accept  the 
situation  if  it  were  offered  him;  but  the  necessity 
was  bitter.  It  seemed  a  tacit  acknowledgment  of  a 
social  position  which  he  had  always  tacitly  protested 
against. 

Arriving  at  Villa  Cesarini,  he  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  the  gardener,  and  went  into  the  garden  to 
wait,  strolling  about,  and  examining  everything. 

That  long  row  of  hydrangeas  that  leaned  so  heavily 
on  the  rail  with  their  weight  of  pink  and  violet- 
colored  balls  would  look  well  set  beside  still  waters ; 
so  he  thought.  All  the  water  should  be  colored  with 
flowers.  "  I  wish  there  were  a  pond.  A  fountain- 
basin  is  nothing.  I  will  have  somewhere  a  wide  thin 
sheet  of  a  cascade  with  a  crowd  of  scarlet  flowers 
behind  it,  and  some  scarlet  flowers  where  it  falls  to 


10  BY  THE    TIBER. 

send  a  red  light  along  the  ripples.  That  should  be 
in  a  place  that  has  strong  lights  and  shades ;  perhaps, 
ail  ivy  wall  behind,  a  tree  hanging  over,  and  the 
south  sun  pouring  in,  with  something  dense  to  splinter 
the  beams  up  into  a  sharp  rain." 

He  paused  in  a  little  open  terrace,  and  looked  down 
upon  Lake  Nemi's  misty  mirror,  all  liquid  green  and 
purple,  with  a  dream  of  a  white  cloud  sailing  over. 
The  emerald  banks  pushed  into  the  water,  which 
seemed  to  have  colored  itself  from  them,  in  many  a 
graceful  curve  and  point.  Far  away  on  its  bosom 
was  a  tiny  boat.  Across  the  water,  Nemi  hung  upon 
the  hillside,  its  whitely  dropping  waterfall  a  motion- 
less line  in  the  distance.  "  After  all,"  said  Vittorio, 
"  what  can  be  done  with  a  few  acres  of  almost  level 
land  !  One  needs  distance,  a  lake  and  a  mountain." 

His  mind  was  always  breaking  bounds  in  this  way. 
When  one  has  only  imaginary  possessions,  one  may 
as  well  wish  grandly. 

Vittorio  had  nothing,  and  worse  than  nothing. 
When  he  lifted  his  head,  aware  of  the  shadowy 
coronet  in  his  hair,  the  blouse  clung  to  and  scorched 
him  like  the  shirt  of  Nessus ;  and  when  he  would 
have  contented  himself  with  the  blouse,  the  proud 
blood  in  his  veins  foamed  up,  and  assailed  him,  heart 
and  brain,  in  a  blind  rage  of  protest.  The  canopy 
which  he  could  almost  feel  waving  its  crested  fringe 
over  his  head  flouted  the  mire  in  which  his  feet 
were  entangled.  All  the  joints  of  his  life  were 
torn  and  dislocated  by  these  strong  horses  of  fate, 
tied  to  his  vitals  and  pulling  in  opposite  ways. 

Turning  away  from  the  terrace,  he  went  down  the 
winding  path,  and  paused  again  in  a  shaded  opening 
below.  It  was  an  exquisite  spot,  so  perfectly  imi- 
tating one  of  Nature's  graceful,  careless  moods  that 
Nature  herself  might  have  believed  it  her  own  work. 
There  was  no  view  into  the  distance  :  the  place  was 


VITTORIO.  11 

only  an  opening  of  the  path  into  a  grassy,  irregular 
space  closely  shut  in  by  trees.  From  under  the  ter- 
race above  dropped  a  scattered  rain,  like  water  from 
the  eaves,  —  dropped  and  stole  into  little  rills  among 
the  grass,  and  united  into  a  pool  on  a  bed  of  yellow- 
pebbles,  and  ran  away  in  a  little  brook  that  scarcely 
dared  to  murmur  above  its  breath.  Over  the  pool 
leaned  a  weeping  willow.  Vittorio  stood  beneath  the 
willow,  and  gazed  into  this  pool,  which  reflected  his 
face. 

Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  both  his  face 
and  form.  His  beauty  was  of  that  character  of 
mingled  Arabic  and  Italian  which  can  be  compared 
only  with  itself.  Golden  bronze  and  sunset  crimson 
do  not  describe  its  rich  shadow  and  bloom.  The 
long  tapering  lines  of  the  limbs,  the  features  which  art 
could  only  copy,  not  improve,  the  liquid  dark  eyes, 
the  unsmiling  lips,  the  shining  black  hair  in  a  mass  of 
loose  waves,  the  small  brown  hands,  —  there  was  not 
a  flaw  in  them.  His  dress,  though  in  some  sort  a 
workman's,  was  graceful.  An  antique  intaglio  in  red 
carnelian  buttoned  the  blue  collar  of  his  belted 
blouse,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat  of  very  dark  blue 
crushed  the  hair  half  over  his  forehead,  and  curled  up 
at  the  sides  showing  his  profile.  In  the  wide  black 
baud  of  the  hat  was  set  a  small  gray  feather  with  a 
scarlet  tip. 

While  he  stood  thus,  three  persons  came  into  the 
terrace  above,  a  lady  and  gentleman  accompanied  by 
the  gardener.  The  gentleman  passed  on  after  a  mo- 
ment, to  examine  the  place,  which  he  had  never 
visited  before  ;  the  lady  remained  on  the  terrace,  her 
feet  on  a  mat  of  ivy  and  myrtle,  one  knee  slightly 
bent  to  an  ancient  capital  of  a  column  placed  there 
as  a  seat.  She  looked  off'  a  moment  toward  Nemi, 
then  downward  to  the  dim  bower  from  whence  a 
musical  tinkle  of  water-drops  came  faintly  to  her  ear. 


12  BY  THE    TIBER. 

At  first  she  could  see  nothing.  Vittorio,  looking  into 
the  pool,  saw  her  face  reflected  clearly.  It  looked 
down  upon  him  as  from  the  sky,  only  the  leaf-flecked 
blue  behind  and  around  it,  a  face  with  the  proud, 
white,  and  almost  sullen  oval  of  a  young  Juno.  A 
dress  of  dark  blue  showed  through  the  rustic  parapet, 
and  a  shawl  of  fine  white  wool  bound  her  head,  and 
dropped  on  her  shoulders.  A  red  rose  had  just  been 
pushed  into  the  locks  behind  her  left  ear,  and  a  bunch 
of  red  roses  were  half  falling  out  of  her  belt.  She 
wore  Vittorio's  colors.  " 

His  stern  and  bitter  expression  softened  as  he 
gazed  at  the  reflected  image ;  and,  after  a  moment,  his 
heart  began  to  tremble  faintly,  like  the  water  in  which 
that  image  lay.  He  would  have  passed  the  lady  in- 
differently if  they  had  met  in  the  common  way ;  he 
had  more  than  once  opposed  a  curling  lip  to  the 
admiring  smiles  of  fine  ladies;  but  alone  with  her 
in  this  ideal  world,  shot  through  by  a  glance  from 
the  woman  above,  and  her  shadow  below,  he  could 
not  be  indifferent. 

The  Donna  Adelaide,  gazing  steadily  downward, 
saw  indistinctly  the  shape  beneath  the  willow,  saw 
the  dark-blue  hat  with  its  red-tipped  feather,  the 
beautiful  profile  and  the  graceful  figure.  But  she  did 
not  see  the  pool  with  her  own  face  in  it. 

Neither  moved,  and  nature  stood  motionless  around 
them.  The  sunshine  seemed  to  have  crystallized 
about  the  scene.  The  faintly  heard  bells  ringing  the 
noon  Angelus  from  the  towers  of  Nemi  was  all  the 
sound  they  heard,  except  the  water-drops  and  their 
own  hearts. 

"  What  beautiful  creature  is  this  ? "  whispered  the 
lady  to  herself.  "  Why  does  he  not  look  up  ?  He  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  Alpinisti.  They  are  about  here 
somewhere;  and  the  hat  looks  like.  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  drop  him  a  rose." 


VITTORW.  13 

She  glanced  around,  and,  seeing  that  her  father  was 
at  a  distance,  talking  over  with  the  gardener  some  ar- 
rangement of  azaleas  and  camellias  which  he  wished  to 
reproduce  in  his  own  villa,  she  drew  one  of  the  roses 
from  her  belt,  and  held  it  in  her  hand  hanging  over 
the  parapet.  Her  backward  glance  and  her  gesture 
were  all  mirrored  below. 

Vittorio  looked  suddenly  up  as  the  rose  rustled 
down  to  his  feet ;  but  the  lady  was  gazing  off  to- 
ward Nemi,  and  did  not  seem  aware  of  his  vicinity. 
He  stooped  for  the  rose,  and  hid  it  in  his  bosom. 
The  next  instant  he  heard  voices  above,  the  face  dis- 
appeared from  the  terrace,  and  presently  steps  came 
down  the  path. 

The  gardener  appeared,  followed  by  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman. After  them  came  the  Donna  Adelaide.  Her 
figure  was  tall  and  straight,  proud  rather  than  grace- 
ful, and  her  slight  arched  foot  seemed  scarcely  to 
touch  the  path.  One  hand  held  lightly  the  long,  dark- 
blue  folds  of  her  dress  ;  the  other  hung  lightly  by  her 
side.  Her  head  was  as  proudly  erect  as  if  the  fascia 
alba  that  bound  it  had  been  the  ancient  diadem  of 
the  Orient.  She  glanced  coldly  at  the  man  under 
the  willow,  and  bit  her  lip.  with  a  quick,  involuntary 
pressure  when  she  saw  his  blouse. 

"  This  is  the  young  man  whom  I  have  recommended 
to  your  Excellency,"  said  the  gardener.  "  Would  you 
like  to  speak  to  him  ?" 

Vittorio  touched  his  hat,  but  did  not  remove  it, 
and  waited  to  be  spoken  to.  His  heart  ached  with  a 
sudden  spasm.  Here  was  his  master! 

The  prince  glanced  at  him  as  from  an  immeasura- 
ble distance.  "  You  might  come  to  Rome  to-morrow, 
and  see  the  place,"  he  said,  and  passed  on. 

Vittorio  muttered  a  word  of  assent,  then  quite  re- 
moved his  hat  to  the  lady,  and  looked  at  her  earnestly 
as  she  passed  him.  She  glanced  him  over  compre- 


14  BY  THE   TIBER. 

hensively,  but  without  the  slightest  sign  of  salutation. 
What  sort  of  gardener  was  this  who  wore  a  hat  that 
a  gentleman  might  wear  for  a  caprice,  and  clean  shoes 
that  fitted  him  perfectly,  and  who  buttoned  his  cotton 
blouse  at  neck  and  wrist  with  antique  intagli,  and 
fastened  his  leather  belt  with  an  antique  bronze 
buckle  which  she  might  herself  have  worn  ?  To  be 
sure,  any  gardener  or  contadino  might  dig  such  things 
out  of  the  ground ;  but,  then,  they  always  sold  them 
for  their  superiors  to  wear. 

She  passed  him  with  just  as  much  notice  as  she 
might  have  given  to  a  tree ;  but  she  had  dropped  her 
rose  to  him,  he  knew.  And  that  rose,  like  a  live  coal 
dropped  upon  an  altar  prepared  for  it,  burned  on  his 
heart  with  a  fire  never  to  be  extinguished.  It  burned 
not  only  his  heart ;  it  consumed  every  interest  of  his 
past  life,  every  hope  that  he  had  cherished  for  the 
future.  Politics,  rank,  kingdoms  and  republics, — 
what  did  they  matter  to  him  ?  He  knew  them  no  more. 
Before  the  Donna  Adelaide  had  traversed  the  long 
loop  of  the  descending  path,  and  come  back  to  that 
part  directly  beneath  where  Vittorio  stood,  a  dazzlingly 
sweet  passion  had  taken  entire  possession  of  him. 

Passing  beneath,  the  Neapolitan  turned  her  head, 
and  looked  deliberately  and  steadily  up  into  his  face 
as  he  looked  down,  and  though  her  own  was  immova- 
bly cold,  quick  sparks  were  flickering  in  her  dark 
eyeballs. 

"  Heavens !  how  beautiful  he  is  ! "  she  whispered 
to  herself  as  she  went  on. 

"  Is  that  man  a  Swiss  gardener  ? "  she  demanded  of 
their  guide,  who  was  himself  Swiss. 

"  He  is  Italian,  Eccellenza,"  replied  the  man,  think- 
ing that  she  could  not  have  looked  at  Vittorio,  whose 
face  was  the  soul  of  Italy. 

"  Is  he  of  your  town  ? "  the  prince  inquired  care- 
lessly, not  interested  in  the  least,  but  intending  to  be 
amiable. 


UNDER   THE  ROSE.  15 

"  Oh,  no  !  he  is  not  rciba  di  Genzano"  the  gardener 
answered.  "  His  mother  was  a  Roman  contadina,  and 
his  father,  they  say,  was  the  Duke  of  Monteforte." 

Adelaide  turned  quickly  to  loosen  her  floating 
scarf  from  an  oleander  branch  that  had  caught  it, 
and  hid  the  smile  that  sprang  to  her  lips.  Even  in 
the  dark  she  had  not  mistaken  the  son  of  a  clod  for 
the  son  of  a  gentleman  ! 

For  Vittorio,  he  stood  there  rapt  before  a  trans- 
figured life.  It  was  as  when,  standing  upon  a  moun- 
tain-top, when  the  rain  has  ceased,  with  the  blue 
above,  and  the  level  sunbeams  underfoot,  one  sees 
close  at  hand  in  the  plain  the  dusky  wall  of  cloud 
and  slanting  rain  extending  from  the  earth  to  the 
heavens,  and  almost  within  arm's  reach  upon  its 
front,  the  sudden  glory  of  the  rainbow  set  its  foun- 
dations of  red  and  blue  and  yellow  on  the  dazzled 
stones  and  grass  of  the  valley. 

Vittorio  felt  as  if  a  rainbow  had  dropped  its  airy 
splendor  about  him. 

So  comes  love  in  the  lands  of  the  sun,  as  swift  as 
an  arrow  from  a  bow. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

UNDER  THE   ROSE. 

THE  purchaser  of  Villa  Mitella,  a  man  of  im- 
mense wealth,  had  also  purchased  his  title  of 
prince.  His  family  was  of  the  lower  nobility  of  the 
South  of  Italy,  and  had  counts  and  cavaliers  in 
Naples  and  Sicily.  The  villa  grounds  were  large, 
and  the  gardens  highly  cultivated ;  but  there  was  a 
newly  added  portion  of  land  which  had  not  yet 
been  laid  out.  The  new  part  included  a  small  but 


16  BY  THE    TIBER. 

commodious  house.  This  house,  with  the  casino, 
or  palace,  as  it  was  usually  called,  and  the  garden- 
er's house,  were  not  set  within  the  gardens,  but 
made  a  part  of  the  walls.  The  palace  faced  the  west, 
the  gardener's  house  was  at  the  eastern  extremity  of 
the  grounds,  and  the  newly  acquired  house,  called  by 
common  consent  the  casuccia,  faced  the  south.  The 
north  wall  was  not  interrupted  by  any  building. 

Vittorio's  house,  though  small,  was  a  charming 
little  nest.  The  ground  floor  opened  only  into  the 
garden,  and  was  reserved  for  tools.  An  outside  stair 
led  up  to  a  picturesque  vaulted  room  with  a  wide 
lattice.  A  bedroom  beside  this,  and  two  rooms 
above,  comprised  the  apartment.  One  of  the  upper 
rooms  served  as  a  kitchen,  and  an  outside  stair 
descended  from  it  to  a  narrow  street  which  ran 
beneath  the  eastern  walls  of  the  villa. 

Here  Vittorio  lived  quite  alone.  In  the  morning 
he  made  his  own  coffee,  and  once  a  day  came  an  old 
woman  to  bring  his  dinner  and  put  the  apartment  in 
order.  He  remained  in  the  house  while  she  was 
there,  showed  her  out  into  the  back  street  when  she 
had  finished,  and  locked  and  barred  the  door  behind 
her.  A  very  assuming  young  man  for  a  gardener, 
she  considered  him,  and  remarkably  curioso  in  all  his 
ways ;  but  she  took  care  not  to  transgress  the  bounds 
he  set  her.  The  "  Signer  Vittorio,"  she  had  called 
him  at  first ;  but  he  corrected  her  incisively.  "  My 
name  is  Vittorio."  "  As  if  to  call  him  Signore  were 
an  insult,"  she  said  to  her  cronies. 

Save  for  this  old  woman,  the  street  door  of  the 
house  was  very  seldom  opened.  Vittorio  never  went 
out  in  the  evening,  and  seldom  even  by  day,  except 
when  business  required ;  and  the  men  he  employed 
entered  by  a  small  gate  in  the  wall  close  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  casuccia. 

Marco  came  to  Eome  to  see  his  step-son  after  a  few 


UNDER   THE  ROSE.  17 

weeks.  Ringing  the  bell  of  the  south  gate,  as  he  had 
been  told  to  do,  he  was  admitted  by  one  of  the  assist- 
ant gardeners,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  search  found 
Vittorio  among  the  orange-trees.  He  was  examining 
them  carefully,  and  cutting  the  finest  buds  into  a 
little  basket,  and  so  absorbed  in  his  occupation  that 
he  started  on  hearing  a  step  near  him,  and  colored 
deeply  with  surprise  and  anger  as  he  turned  to  see 
who  it  was. 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the  men,"  he  said ; 
"  and  I  don't  allow  them  to  come  here." 

The  two  saluted  each  other  rather  dryly.  Their 
affection  had  never  been  demonstrative.  Their  sym- 
pathy consisted  in  a  common  hate  of  their  social  supe- 
riors, and  a  common  love  of  their  own  profession  ;  but 
their  personal  tastes  and  habits  were  quite  diverse. 

"  You  don't  allow  the  men  to  come  here  ? "  Marco 
repeated  interrogatively,  as  he  followed  Vittorio  to  a 
fountain  set  against  a  wall  near  by. 

"  No ;  they  have  nothing  to  do  here,  and  they  have 
no  right  to  go  so  near  to  the  palace.  The  gate  is 
opened  only  by  permission,  and  when  it  is  necessary, 
and  there  is  no  other  entrance  except  through  the 
palace  and  through  my  house." 

As  he  replied,  Vittorio  went  up  the  steps  at  the 
side  of  the  fountain,  and,  pushing  away  the  veiling 
ivy,  set  the  basket  of  orange-buds  on  a  little  spray- 
wet  shelf  of  the  rock-work.  Two  white  pigeons,  that 
had  been  drinking  there  in  the  cool  shade  on  the 
brim  of  the  marble  basin,  fluttered  away  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  returned  to  their  spray-catching  and  their 
billing  and  cooing. 

Marco  stood  back  in  a  thicket  of  red  and  white  ca- 
mellias, and  looked  about  him.  "  I  would  like  to  see 
what  you  are  doing,"  he  said.  "  And  I  have  but  a 
little  time  to  stay,  for  I  must  take  the  evening  train 
to  Valmontone.  That  benedetta  diligence  takes  six 
2 


18  BY  THE    TIBER. 

hours  on  the  road.  I  started  at  seven  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  have  only  just  arrived.  How  do  you 
get  along  ? " 

"  Very  well.     I  could  n't  be  better  off." 

Marco's  clouded  eyes  flashed  out  a  sharp  glance 
into  his  companion's  face.  He  had  found  Vittorio 
paler  and  thinner  than  when  they  parted. 

"  You  were  cutting  orange-buds,"  he  said,  glancing 
up  at  the  mossy  shelf  where  they  were  set.  "  They 
say  that  the  Donna  Adelaide  is  to  be  married  to- 
morrow." 

"  Yes,"  Vittorio  answered  briefly,  moving  away. 

They  walked  about  the  garden,  looking  at  the  flow- 
ers and  at  the  work  begun  in  the  new  laud.  Com- 
ing to  the  gardener's  house,  they  went  in  and  drank  a 
glass  of  wine  together,  and  Vittorio  gave  his  step- 
father a  present  for  Eosa.  It  was  a  beautiful  Gre- 
cian scarabeo  of  lapis-lazuli,  with  a  Minerva  engraven 
on  it. 

"  I  found  two  of  them  when  I  made  the  new  drain," 
he  said,  "  and  I  thought  this  would  please  Eosa.  The 
other  is  a  Victory,  and  I  have  kept  it  for  my  name. 
They  belong  to  me  as  much  as  to  any  one.  They  were 
under  the  wall ;  and  the  land  under  the  wall  belongs 
to  nobody." 

"Sicuro!"  replied  Marco  with  tranquil  acquies- 
cence, examining  the  gem,  and  mentally  calculating 
its  value.  . 

Presently  they  went  out  again,  and,  after  strolling 
about  for  a  while,  paused  behind  a  half-moon  laurel 
hedge,  through  which  was  visible  a  company  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  breakfasting  in  the  open  air. 

Palazzo  Mitella  was  a  solid  pile,  with  a  wing  at 
either  side  extending  farther  back  into  the  garden, 
and  thus  enclosing  three  sides  of  a  paved  square,  into 
which  opened  the  long  windows  of  the  surrounding 
rooms.  The  table  was  set  in  this  open  court,  and 


UNDER    THE  ROSE.  19 

five  or  six  persons  were  seated  there.  The  city  with- 
out was  swimming  in  heat,  and  just  sinking  into  a 
languid  mid-day  sleep ;  but  in  this  secluded  spot,  as 
silent  as  the  heart  of  a  forest,  a  faint  and  fitful 
breath  of  air  from  the  east  passed  over  the  garden, 
and  cooled  and  scented  its  wings  before  reaching  the 
company. 

Marco  gazed  at  the  scene  with  that  gloomy,  taci- 
turn face  of  his,  marked  the  glittering  china  and 
silver,  the  rose-red  and  golden-yellow  of  the  wines, 
the  fruits  and  flowers,  the  obsequious  servants.  He 
noted  the  company,  their  easy  attitudes,  almost  loung- 
ing in  the  large  leather-covered  arm-chairs,  and  lis- 
tened to  their  low-voiced  talk  and  light  laughter. 
"  Outside,"  he  thought,  "  the  hungry  beggar  drops 
his  head  upon  the  curbstone  to  sleep,  and  the  poor 
mother  hushes  her  child's  cries  that  they  may  not  be 
turned  away  from  the  doorway  in  which  they  have 
taken  refuge,  and  the  ragged  children  cluster  on  the 
church  steps,  thankful  for  a  crust  of  bread.  While 
these  —  who  laid  the  first  stone  around  which  have 
petrified  all  the  insolent  privileges  and  crushing 
power  under  which  we  groan  ?  Some  man  no  better 
than  I  am,  who  did  a  deed  for  which  I  should  be 
hanged  if  I  did  it  to-day.  It  is  time  for  us  to  move. 
This  play  of  the  great  is  respectable  only  because  the 
actors  put  on  such  serious  airs.  If  once  we,  the  spec- 
tators, should  laugh  aloud,  all  the  world  would  see 
how  ridiculous  it  is.  Ah,  may  they  hear  a  laugh 
that  will  chill  the  marrow  in  their  bones ! " 

The  glance  and  breath  of  this  man's  face  might 
well  have  scorched  what  it  touched ;  but  the  laurel 
screen  through  which  he  gazed  held  bright  and  un- 
scathed its  glossy,  scented  leaves,  proud  with  the  mem- 
ories of  many  a  triumph.  Its  unfading  green  had 
never  wreathed  such  brows  as  his. 

Marco  turned  his  eyes,  without  turning  his  head, 


20  BY  THE   TIBER. 

to  speak  to  his  companion;  but  the  words  were 
arrested  on  his  lips  by  the  look  in  Vittorio's  face. 
It  could  hardly  be  called  an  expression :  it  was  an 
absorption.  Vittorio  gazed  into  the  face  of  the 
Donna  Adelaide,  his  whole  being  drowned  in  the  con- 
templation of  her,  and  utterly  calm  in  the  intensity 
of  that  trance. 

Marco's  own  face  changed  as  he  watched  him,  and 
grew  calm  with  something  of  the  same  intensity. 
He  recollected,  read,  and  understood.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  utter  passion  of  Vittorio's  gazing  eyes. 

Then  he  looked  back  at  the  lady.  She  was  no 
longer  to  him  merely  a  member  of  the  class  which 
he  hated ;  she  was  an  individual,  and  her  slender 
white  arms,  stronger  than  Samson's,  were  wreathed 
about  the  pillars  of  a  temple  into  which  were  built 
the  hopes  of  his  life. 

She  sat  there  in  careless  ease,  a  long  white  robe 
falling  about  her,  half  hiding  the  dim  gilding  and 
the  lions'  claws  of  her  chair,  a  red  silk  turban  folded 
about  the  thick  tresses  of  her  dark  hair.  She  scarcely 
replied  to  the  young  man  who  sat  beside  her,  and 
gave  only  an  absent  word  to  the  others ;  yet  Marco's 
piercing  eyes  detected  in  her  something  of  purpose, 
some  alertness  of  attention  under  her  apparent  lan- 
guor and  abstraction.  That  play  of  the  hand  and 
arm,  those  movements  of  the  head  that  made  its 
fringed  drapery  wave  as  if  a  breeze  had  passed  over 
it,  that  pushing  out  of  the  small  foot  from  beneath 
its  flowing  drapery,  —  it  was  not  all  unconscious.  She 
was  playing  off  these  graces  on  some  one.  It  was  not 
the  man  at  her  side.  Who  was  it  ? 

While  he  looked  she  raised  a  cluster  of  red  roses 
from  her  lap,  touched  them  to  her  lips,  as  if  breathing 
their  perfume,  then  veiling  her  face  from  the  others 
with  them,  gave  a  quick,  searching  glance  around  the 
garden,  probed  with  her  flashing  eyes  the  laurel 


UNDER    THE  ROSE.  21 

screen,  and  let  them  melt  there  for  an  instant.  Then 
she  dropped  the  roses,  and  resumed  her  languid 
coolness. 

The  blood  that  rushed  to  Marco's  face  sang  so 
loudly  in  his  ears  that  he  did  not  hear  the  breath 
at  his  side  sharply  drawn  as  if  it  had  been  held  long 
suspended. 

Both  turned  away  involuntarily ;  but  in  turning, 
Vittorio  snatched  a  laurel  leaf,  and  threw  the  hand 
holding  it  up  over  his  head,  and  held  it  there  a  mo- 
ment, the  gesture  full  of  a  fiery  exultation.  He 
seemed  to  have  crowned  himself. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  Marco  could  control 
himself  to  ask  calmly,  "  What  part  of  the  palace  will 
they  live  in  when  they  come  back?  They  say  that 
an  apartment  is  prepared  for  them  here." 

Vittorio  pointed  to  the  north  wing.  He  did  not 
seem  to  have  found  his  voice.  Marco  walked  in  that 
direction,  and  he  was  obliged  to  follow,  slipping  from 
one  hedge  and  grove  to  another,  to  remain  unseen  by 
the  company  at  the  table,  till  they  stood  close  to  the 
palace.  This  north  wing  had  but  two  stories  above 
the  ground  floor,  and  ended  in  a  loggia  along  the 
whole  priino  piano.  Two  long  windows  opened  into 
this  loggia,  and  a  narrow  stair,  half  hidden  near  the 
outer  wall,  descended  from  it  into  the  garden.  The 
loggia  and  stair,  and  the  corner  of  the  garden  that 
surrounded  them,  were  all  wreathed  and  smothered  in 
roses.  There  were  roses  for  every  month  in  the  year, 
overlapping  each  other  in  constantly  increasing  rich- 
ness, —  roses  piled  on  roses,  till  the  ground  was  a 
pink  and  white  carpet  with  their  falling  petals,  and 
the  bridal  apartment  was  like  a  casket  in  which  the 
Persian  attar  has  been  spilt. 

If  Vittorio  had  looked  into  Marco's  face  he  would 
scarcely  have  known  him  ;  for  never  had  he  seen  in  it 
that  glittering,  ferocious  joy.  It  was  such  a  light  as 


22  BY  THE    TIBER. 

shines  in  the  eyes  of  the  tiger  when  he  quivers  with 
repressed  force  and  eagerness,  the  instant  before 
launching  himself  upon  the  prey  of  which  he  is 
sure. 

Felicita  was  avenged ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

ORANGE-BUDS. 

THE  north  wing  of  the  palace  had  been  newly 
fitted  up  as  a  bridal  apartment,  and  the  Donna 
Adelaide  had  already  taken  possession  of  it.  She 
was  to  be  married  early  in  the  morning  in  church, 
and  leave  Rome  immediately  to  spend  two  months 
in  the  country. 

On  the  evening  before  her  wedding  she  dismissed 
her  maid  early,  everything  being  prepared  for  her 
toilet  in  the  morning.  The  bridal  dress  and  veil 
glimmered  whitely  from  sofas  and  chairs  in  the  sala 
adjoining  her  bedroom,  the  cases  containing  her 
bridal  jewels  lay  on  the  dressing-table,  with  the 
delicate  gloves  and  shoes,  and  her  trunks  stood 
already  packed  in  the  anteroom. 

"  You  can  go  now,  Lucia,"  she  said.  "  I  will  fin- 
ish undressing  myself.  But  first  set  all  the  doors 
open,  so  that  I  can  walk  a  little.  I  feel  nervous  and 
wide-awake.  A  sleeping-potion  ?  No ;  it  would 
make  my  eyes  look  heavy  in  the  morning." 

Following  the  maid  into  the  sala,  she  listened  to 
her  steps  as  she  passed  through  the  anteroom,  then 
locked  both  doors  after  her.  She  had  no  mind  to  be 
watched  that  night ;  and  now,  when  the  freedom  of 
married  life  was  so  near,  she  was  all  the  more  impa- 
tient of  the  restrictions  and  oversight  of  girlhood. 


ORANGE-BUDS.  23 

Haughty,  passionate,  and  unscrupulous,  she  had 
yet  a  sort  of  vicious  nobleness,  and  scorned  the 
pettinesses  of  her  life  as  heartily  as  she  scorned  its 
duties.  She  was  marrying  for  freedom.  Her  family 
had  selected  her  husband,  and  she  had  accepted  him 
willingly.  He  was  rather  a  weak  youth,  and  only  a 
count ;  but  he  was  rich,  and  he  opened  a  new  life  for 
her.  She  gave  very  little  thought  to  him,  indeed, 
except  the  contemptuous  one  that  his  authority  was 
not  likely  to  give  her  much  annoyance.  Her  mind 
was  occupied  with  a  future  in  which  he  played  a 
subordinate  part.  And  yet  this  future,  now  that  it 
was  near  enough  to  be  read,  did  not  satisfy  her.  Of 
uncultivated  intellect,  neither  literature  nor  art  of- 
fered itself  to  fill  the  great  space  outside  her  girl- 
ish life.  Feminine  occupations  she  cared  little  for. 
Nature  delighted  her  only  to  the  extent  of  an  un- 
intelligent pleasure  in  beautiful  scenes.  The  most 
beautiful  landscape  had  but  one  word  to  say  to  her. 
Of  the  infinite  volumes  it  contained  she  knew  noth- 
ing and  cared  nothing.  She  required  a  magnificent 
landscape  about  her  palace  or  villa,  as  she  required 
fine  furniture  in  her  rooms,  and  thought  no  more  of 
one  than  of  the  other.  Excitement,  stirring  scenes,  pag- 
eants, and  power,  —  these  were  her  aspirations.  She 
felt  in  herself  the  struggle  of  energies  impatient  to  be 
employed,  without  possessing  the  natural  piety  which 
might  have  directed  them  to  noble  work.  She  was 
supremely  egotistic,  and  wished  to  enjoy  life  fully, 
and  to  be  not  only  a  law  to  herself,  but  a  law  to 
others.  Yet  now,  looking  at  that  near  future  which 
had  promised  so  much  when  it  was  vague  and  dis- 
tant, she  could  define  nothing  but  a  continuation  of 
pettinesses  indefinitely  multiplied,  —  the  same  con- 
versations, made  up  of  gossip  and  scandal ;  the  same 
vapid  receptions,  in  which  the  sole  ambition  possi- 
ble was  to  have  the  most  beautiful  toilet  and  receive 


24  BY  THE   TIBER. 

the  most  compliments ;  the  same  monotonous  drives 
through  familiar  scenes ;  and  a  church  function  now 
and  then  to  dawdle  through  with  the  usual  carelessly 
performed  affectation  of  devotion. 

The  palace  was  quite  still.  All  had  retired  early, 
in  preparation  for  the  morning.  Every  door  and 
shutter  was  closed  and  bolted.  Adelaide  walked 
restlessly  to  and  fro  from  the  anteroom  to  the 
boudoir  opening  into  the  loggia,  her  tall  figure  in  itss 
flowing  white  dress  looking  spirit-like  in  the  dim 
rooms,  lighted  only  by  two  candles  from  the  bedroom. 
After  a  little  while  she  extinguished  these,  and  softly 
opened  one  of  the  western  windows  overlooking  the 
city.  The  moon  was  in  the  south,  and  its  beams 
shot  by  without  entering  the  room.  All  the  city  was 
flooded  with  a  melancholy  splendor,  and  the  moun- 
tains on  the  horizon  lay  like  a  sleeping  caravan  of 
gigantic  camels  with  huge  shapes  sunk  into  outlines 
that  seemed  to  stir  with  the  soft  breathing  of  deep 
repose.  Beside  her,  as  she  leaned  from  the  window, 
were  heads  of  carven  stone  that  caught  the  light 
along  their  cold,  unconscious  brows. 

Adelaide  leaned  farther  out,  and  the  quiet  moon- 
beams suddenly  felt  an  unquiet  soul  thrust  among 
them,  and  trembled  on  that  hair  and  forehead,  fever- 
ish and  palpitating  with  life.  She  gazed  over  the 
city  with  gleaming  eyes.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
she  had  ever  seen  it  in  silence  and  solitude  like  this, 
the  first  time  in  all  her  life  that  she  had  ever  opened 
her  window  at  night,  and  the  situation  had  for  her 
something  of  the  zest  of  an  adventure. 

Presently  a  company  of  contadini  came  up  the 
street  on  their  way  out  of  the  city.  One  of  them 
played  a  mandolin,  and  they  all  walked  silently  to 
the  music. 

Adelaide  drew  quickly  back,  and  closed  the  window 
and  the  shutters.  An  open  window  with  a  lady  in  it 


ORANGE-BUDS.  25 

would  have  been  a  strange  sight  at  that  hour  of  night. 
Irritated  still  more  then  at  being  so  cramped,  she 
crossed  the  room,  opened  one  of  the  garden  windows, 
and  looked  out  on  a  scene  of  enchantment.  The 
fountains  fell  with  a  foamy  plash,  the  paths  were 
paved  with  mother-of-pearl,  the  illuminated  trees 
and  shrubs  rained  a  silvery  light  onto  the  turf,  and 
the  deep  shadows  were  as  soft  as  clouds.  Now  and 
then  a  faint  breeze  came  in  from  the  mountains, 
spent  with  its  long  journey,  put  the  heavy  odors 
aside  like  a  curtain,  and  swooned  away  among  the 
roses.  Up  against  the  sky  on  every  side  was  reared 
the  garden  wall,  with  its  vases  full  of  long,  pointed 
aloe-leaves,  like  swords  guarding  this  paradise. 

Leaning  from  the  window,  Adelaide  met  that  soft 
rush  of  sound  which  is  the  silence  of  nature :  the 
touch  of  leaf  to  leaf,  the  stirring  of  a  bird  in  its  nest, 
the  fluttering  down,  all  at  once,  of  a  cloud  of  flower- 
petals,  the  farming  of  a  moth's  wing,  the  gathering  of 
cool  mists  into  dew,  and  the  falling  of  the  dewdrop, 
the  rustling  of  the  petals  of  a  ripe  rosebud  which  in 
the  morning  will  be  a  rose,  the  murmur  of  multitu- 
dinous growth ;  and,  above  all,  that  indefinite  con- 
sciousness of  harmonies  too  grand  for  the  ear  to  gather 
which  is  felt  when  the  soul  strains  upward  and  out- 
ward from  the  tethers  of  the  body,  and  knows  that 
the  stars  are  singing.  For  they  sing  !  No  ship  that 
sails  but  makes  its  song  upon  the  water ;  no  wave 
comes  up  the  shore  without  its  silken  murmur;  no 
bird  nor  bee  that  flies  but  the  air  hums  or  rustles 
against  its  wings.  And  shall  the  swift  worlds  be 
mute  ?  They  sing,  they  sing ! 

The  Donna  Adelaide  did  not  think  of  the  music 
of  the  spheres ;  but  she  felt  some  influence  which 
made  walls  and  a  roof  intolerable.  Wrapping  herself 
hastily  in  a  black  mantle,  and  drawing  the  hood  over 
her  head,  she  opened  one  of  the  long  windows  of  the 


26  BY  THE   TIBER. 

loggia,  and  slipped  silently  down  the  stair  and  into 
the  garden.  She  wandered  through  the  flowery  alleys, 
now  bathed  in  a  white  light  that  ran  glistening  over 
her  silken  domino,  now  hidden  in  the  shades,  a 
blacker  shadow.  There  was  no  danger  here  of  obser- 
vation. The  palace  was  barred  like  a  prison,  the 
casuccia  was  not  inhabited,  and  the  gardener's  house 
—  she  walked  in  that  direction  to  make  sure  that  its 
windows  were  blind.  Yet,  after  all,  she  would  not 
have  cared  if  Vittorio  had  seen  her,  she  thought. 
He  was  not  like  any  one  else.  He  was  the  only  per- 
son she  knew  who  never  annoyed  her.  Besides,  he 
adored  her,  and  his  adoration  pleased  her.  The 
Count  Belvedere,  her  husband  of  to-morrow,  was 
fiacco  even  in  his  devotion  to  her;  and  she  liked  the 
strong  taste  of  life. 

She  sauntered  on,  thinking  idly  of  Vittorio,  since 
she  must  think  of  something.  He  was  the  only  thing 
new  in  her  life.  Everything  else  was  stale.  She 
liked  his  disdainful  ways,  his  daintinesses,  his  severe 
silence,  and  the  rare  smile  that  came  only  when  a 
flower  pleased  him.  "  It  is  a  pity  the  Monteforte 
would  not  own  him,  instead  of  the  imbecile  they 
took,"  she  thought.  "  One  can  see  that  he  belongs  to 
them;  and  the  proofs  they  did  not  find,  they  could 
have  made.  I  could  then  have  married  him,  and 
been  a  duchess." 

She  reached  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  garden, 
and,  pausing  in  a  thicket  of  oleanders,  saw  through 
the  flowers  Vittorio's  windows  wide  open.  The  moon- 
light lay  whitely  on  the  ledge  of  the  wide  casement, 
and  a  faint  golden  light  stole  out  to  meet  it  from  a 
little  lamp  burning  before  a  Madonna.  There  was 
no  other  light,  and  no  sign  of  life.  On  the  outer  wall 
hung  a  mantle  of  jasmine  full  of  little  white  stars 
that  shone  shyly  back  to  the  moon. 

"  He  is  imprudent  to  sleep  with  his  windows 
open,"  the.  lady  thought,  walking  on. 


ORANGE-BUDS.  27 

Close  beside  the  rose-thickets  of  her  apartment 
was  a  group  of  pines  standing  in  a  circle,  like  a  round 
temple,  of  which  the  trunks  were  the  pillars,  and 
the  crowded  green  umbrellas  they  held  aloft,  the  roof. 
In  the  midst  of  these  trees  was  a  round  marble 
pedestal,  from  which  a  slender  column  of  water  shot 
far  up  into  the  pine-scented  dusk  of  the  green  roof, 
and  fell  in  spray  on  the  daisied  turf.  This  was  the 
fountain  and  grove  of  Undine.  Seen  from  without, 
it  might  have  been  a  water-nymph  dancing  there. 
The  pedestal  and  the  falling  spray  sparkled  in  the 
light ;  but  all  above  was  in  a  deep  shadow,  through 
which  a  dim  and  tremulous  whiteness  outlined  the 
drapery  of  an  invisible  form. 

As  Adelaide  paused  beside  one  of  the  trees,  she 
heard  a  long,  deep  sigh,  —  the  sigh  of  one  who  sleeps, 
and  mourns  in  sleeping. 

Startled,  she  drew  her  mantle  closer,  and  stepped 
farther  into  the  shade.  There  lay  Vittorio  asleep, 
one  arm  bent  under  his  head,  the  other  thrown  out 
into  the  light,  which  it  seemed  to  grasp  with  an 
upturned  palm.  So  Endymion  might  have  slept,  and 
in  his  dream  have  grasped  the  shining  vesture  of 
Diana. 

"  Was  ever  any  other  human  creature  so  beautiful  ? " 
murmured  Adelaide,  bending  to  look  at  him.  "  He 
is  like  a  fairy  prince  I  " 

As  she  bent  there,  smiling  into  his  sleeping  face,  a 
nightingale  burst  into  sudden  song  among  the  roses. 

Vittorio  stirred,  raised  himself  on  to  his  elbow, 
and  listened,  his  face  turned  toward  the  palace.  The 
song  wavered  and  ceased,  and  as  it  fell  into  silence, 
a  single  word  broke  from  his  lips.  "  Adelaide  ! "  he 
exclaimed,  and  stretched  his  arms  out  toward  her 
windows.  Then,  moved  by  some  seeing  instinct,  he 
turned  and  saw  standing  there  beside  the  fountain  a 
slender  form  all  in  black. 


28  BY  THE   TIBER. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  silent  and  breathless ;  and  at 
the  same  moment,  with  a  silken  rustling  like  that 
of  the  falling  waters,  the  sharp  blackness  parted  and 
slipped  to  the  ground,  revealing  a  white  shape  with 
swan's-down  bordered  folds  sweeping  the  daisies : 
Undine  stepped  from  her  pedestal ! 

"  Vittorio  ! "  said  Undine. 

He  breathed  again,  and  in  that  breath  cast  himself 
at  her  feet. 

"  Why  are  you  here,  Vittorio  ?  "  asked  the  Donna 
Adelaide  gently. 

"  Forgive  me  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  could  not  stay 
in  the  house.  I  have  not  slept  for  a  week.  To-mor- 
row you  will  be  a  bride  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  quietly.  "  And  I  want  to  see 
my  wreath.  You  would  not  show  it  to  Lucia.  Show 
it  to  me  now." 

His  passion  recalled  her  wavering  fancy,  and  her 
quiet  confounded  him.  He  dropped  his  face  forward 
into  the  dewy  grass  at  her  feet.  "  I  am  but  your 
servant ! "  he  groaned  out.  "  Even  here  and  now,  out- 
side the  cruel  world  you  live  in,  I  am  but  your  ser- 
vant ! " 

"  You  are  Vittorio  ! "  she  replied,  with  in  voluntary- 
emphasis  and  significance ;  then  added  hastily,  "  bring 
me  the  wreath." 

He  looked  up  into  her  face,  then  rose  to  do  her 
bidding. 

The  wreath  lay  above  the  fountain  where  he  had 
placed  it  that  evening,  safe  and  fresh.  Nothing  could 
reach  it  there,  unless  a  bird  should  dash  through  the 
spray  to  peck  its  sweet  waxen  buds. 

Adelaide  stepped  quite  out  into  the  moonlight  as 
Vittorio  came  back.  "How  beautiful! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  But  is  it  long  enough  ?  Tiy  it  on  my  head." 

She  bent  before  him,  and  he,  as  in  a  dream,  laid 
the  wreath  on  her  head. 


ORANGE-BUDS.  29 

"  It  fits  me  perfectly,"  she  said,  and  stood  erect 
and  crowned,  looking  at  him  with  her  steady  eyes. 
"  Yet  I  did  not  give  you  a  measure." 

"  I  measured  the  Diana,"  he  said,  and  glanced  at  a 
statue  that  shone  out  from  the  laurels. 

"  You  tried  my  wreath  on  her  head  ! " 

"  No ;  I  would  not  allow  the  wreath  to  touch  any 
head  but  yours.  But  I  measured  that,  and  allowed 
for  the  soul." 

She  smiled,  still  looking  at  him  steadily.  "You 
think  that  a  soul  would  expand  the  brain,  then  ? " 

"  Naturally,"  he  replied. 

"  And  if  you  measured  the  Diana  for  my  girdle, 
you  would  allow  for  a  heart  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  should  make  the  girdle  shorter." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"  The  goddesses  of  this  world  have  no  hearts,"  said 
Vittorio.  "  But  Diana's  heart  was  strong.  It  beat 
her  side  out  full  with  love.  She  did  not  marry  a 
count  for  his  money  and  his  name ;  she  loved  a 
shepherd." 

Vittorio's  bitterness  prevented  the  Donna  Adelaide 
being  overwhelmed  by  her  imagination,  though  it 
could  not  prevent  her  being  fascinated.  It  was  at 
variance  with  the  soft  enchantment  of  the  scene,  and 
kept  her  obligations  in  her  memory.  After  a  mo- 
ment's silence  she  bent  her  head  again,  and  bade  him 
take  off'  her  wreath. 

fie  removed  it  with  trembling  care,  and  had  turned 
away  to  replace  it,  when  she  spoke  again. 

"  Felicissima  notte,  Vittorio.  Go  home,  and  shut 
your  windows,  as  I  am  going  to  do.  To-morrow  I 
leave  Rome  for  the  country,  and  I  wish  to  find  you 
alive  and  well  when  I  return,  as  I  shall  not  if  you 
breathe  the  night  air  in  this  reckless  way.  We  shall 
meet  again.  Addio ! " 

She  went  swiftly  away,  and  a  moment  later  he 
heard  her  window  close. 


30  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  We  shall  meet  again."  The  words  fell  like  balm 
on  his  bruised  spirit.  He  did  not  ask  what  they 
might  mean.  He  only  welcomed  them. 

The  next  morning,  wheii  Lucia  brought  the  bridal 
wreath,  her  mistress  saw  that  it  was  made  of  flowers, 
not  of  buds.  She  smiled,  but  said  nothing. 

With  the  wedding  and  the  summer  visits  of  the 
Contessa  Belvedere  we  have  nothing  to  do.  Early  in 
October  they  returned  to  the  palace  again.  They 
arrived  in  time  for  breakfast,  after  which  they  had 
coffee  in  the  garden.  Then,  one  by  one,  the  company 
dropped  away  to  rest  before  the  afternoon  drive. 

The  Countess  seemed  to  have  gone  in ;  but  in  fact 
she  only  pretended  to  go,  returning  swiftly  among  the 
screening  shrubs  to  a  little  nook  hedged  in  by  orange- 
trees,  where  a  passion-vine  hung  along  the  wall. 
Here  Vittorio  bent  with  one  knee  on  the  ground, 
while  he  pretended  to  disentangle  a  broken  branch. 
He  had  been  watching  the  newly  married  couple 
through  the  trees,  and  his  brows  were  black  with 
anger.  He  scarcely  glanced  up  as  the  lady  swept 
toward  him,  her  silken  skirts  rustling  on  the  grass  in 
long  purple  folds. 

"  You  here,  Vittorio  ? "  she  said,  with  a  light  affec- 
tation of  surprise.  "  I  have  come  for  some  passion- 
flowers." 

"  It  is  a  pity  to  break  them,"  he  said  gloomily ; 
"and  roses  would  suit  you  better.  You  might  as 
well  wear  a  crucifix  at  a  ball  as  put  a  passion-flower 
in  your  bosom  when  you  are  gay." 

"  They  suit  me,  and  I  want  them,"  she  replied. 

He  began  reluctantly  to  break  the  flowers.  "  With- 
in an  hour  you  will  throw  them  away,  or  worse,"  he 
said. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  returned,  without  a  sign  of 
displeasure.  "  But  what  could  be  worse  than  throw- 
ing them  away  ? " 


ORANGE-BUDS.  31 

"  Giving  them  to  Count  Belvedere,"  he  answered. 

She  laughed  softly,  and  put  the  flowers  he  gave 
her  into  her  bosom.  "  Why  should  you  object  to 
that  ? " 

"  Because  I  hate  him  ! "  said  Vittorio,  and,  turning 
away,  knelt  down  to  his  work  again. 

The  Count's  voice  was  heard  calling  his  wife.  He 
never  allowed  her  to  be  long  out  of  his  sight. 

Adelaide  bent  quickly  toward  Vittorio,  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  hate  him  more  than 
you  can  do,"  she  whispered.  "  And  now  stay  where 
you  are  a  little  while,  that  he  may  not  know  you 
were  here." 

Before  he  could  catch  her  hand,  it  was  withdrawn, 
and  she  ran  away,  checking  her  pace  when  she 
came  in  sight  of  the  palace  windows,  and  arranging 
the  flowers  in  the  white  laces  on  her  bosom  as  she 
went. 

"I  went  to  get  some  passion-flowers,"  she  said, 
smiling  at  her  husband  as  he  came  to  meet  her. 
And,  putting  her  hand  in  his  arm,  she  drew  him  in- 
doors. 

Poor  Vittorio  !  that  his  goddess  was  but  a  light 
woman,  he  might  suspect ;  but  he  was  far  from 
imagining  that  he  was  but  one  of  her  many  ca- 
prices, and  that  all  the  baffled  energies  of  her  nature 
were  flowing  toward  the  one  open  channel  of  in- 
trigue. If  she  sank  from  the  starry  heights  on  which 
his  fancy  had  placed  her,  the  skies,  for  him,  sank 
with  her,  and  she  was  still  the  highest  and  best  he 
knew. 

He  stood  there  in  a  tumult  of  emotion  that  de- 
stroyed all  thought,  till  a  slight  sound  near  aroused 
him.  A  mandarin  orange  had  dropped  from  one  of 
the  branches  against  the  wall,  where  they  grew  beside 
the  large,  sorrowful  stars  of  the  passion-flower. 

Vittorio  absently  stooped  for  the  fruit,  and  put  it 


32  BY  THE    TIBER. 

to  his  lips ;  but  instead  of  a  delicate  fresh  sweetness, 
his  mouth  was  scorched  by  an  intense  strength  of 
rind  and  pulp  where  all  perfumes  of  fruit  and  flower 
seemed  to  have  been  concentrated. 

He  cast  it  away,  washed  his  mouth  in  a  fountain 
near  by,  and,  stealing  along  by  the  wall,  went  into 
his  own  house. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

WHILE  the  golden  mandarini  were  dropping 
through  Italian  odors  to  burn  the  lips  of  the 
rejected  scion  of  a  coroneted  race,  far  away  across  the 
ocean,  a  daughter  of  the  North  stood  dreaming  in  a 
sunlight  as  rich,  if  more  tempered,  with  ducal  straw- 
berry-leaves crushed  beneath  her  republican  feet,  and 
heard  a  crimson  apple  fall  from  a  laden  tree  to  the 
bright  turf  below.  Primeval  forests  swept  over  the 
hills,  luxuriantly  dark,  and  full  of  mystery ;  purple 
mountains  propped  a  purple  sky,  in  which  were  other 
mountains  of  more  than  snowy  whiteness,  —  whole 
alpine  ranges,  with  avalanches  of  mist-entangled  sun- 
shine, and  dazzling  angles  of  airy  glaciers.  Between 
forest  and  mountain  a  broad  river  wound  dreamily 
to  and  fro,  and  ever  onward.  Wherever  a  leaf  was 
seen,  there  October  had  laid  its  rainbow  coloring ;  and, 
swathing  the  mountains,  filming  the  nearer  hills,  and 
filtered  through  the  forests,  lay  the  slumbrous  richness 
of  the  autumn  haze. 

The  only  sign  of  human  life  visible  was  in  the 
tall  and  slender  figure  of  Valeria  Ellsworth  moving 
slowly  down  the  fruit-scented  orchard  to  a  vine-hung 
cottage  near  the  highway.  Her  last  October  dream  in 


APPLE-BLOSSOMS.  83 

her  native  land  was  ended.  It  was  time  to  go.  The 
carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  the  trunks  were  on  the 
steps.  Through  the  sounding  forest,  like  an  arrow 
through  the  heart  of  solitude,  the  coming  train  was 
rushing  to  its  station  in  the  near  valley ;  and  beyond 
the  mountains  lay  the  seaside  town  from  which  on 
the  morrow  a  steamer  would  bear  her  across  the 
ocean  to  the  scene  of  ideal  lives. 

Valeria  was  alone  in  the  world  and  without  a  home, 
and  her  fortunes  were  all  bound  inside  her  closely 
crushed  curls  of  brown  hair.  She  had  chosen  her  life 
to  be  single  and  artistic,  —  chosen  not  with  laborious 
reasoning,  but  with  a  swift  instinct  of  what  was  best 
fitted  for  her.  The  pros  and  cons  had  all  been 
weighed,  not  consciously,  perhaps,  but  in  the  long, 
slow  balance  of  experience.  For  her  early  youth 
was  passed.  She  was  now  thirty-five  years  old. 
Her  first  need  was  a  home  quite  her  own,  as  much 
her  own  as  the  shell  is  the  home  of  the  nut.  Some 
people  have  a  certain  outward  insensibility  or  positive- 
ness  which  makes  promiscuous  social  intercourse  tol- 
erable and  even  pleasant,  and  dulls  the  contact  with 
alien  substances ;  but  she  was  so  sensitively  strung 
that  the  outer  personality  of  a  protecting  and  harmo- 
nious privacy  was  an  absolute  necessity.  Without  it, 
all  that  she  was  was  worse  than  lost.  This  home  was 
not  possible  to  her  in  her  native  land,  but  might  be 
possible  in  another. 

The  last  good-byes  were  said,  and  she  turned  away 
from  the  door.  The  vine-draped  cottage  went  all 
into  crooked  lines  as  she  looked  back ;  the  fences  fell, 
the  trees  were  blurred,  the  whole  place  was  ruined  in 
her  tears. 

How  beautiful  was  her  native  land,  with  its  winters, 
which  she  was  leaving  !  How  fine  were  those  storms, 
thick  with  snow-flakes  and  snow-birds,  where  the 
drifts  reveal  the  ways  of  the  wind  as  it  tears  a  tall 


34  BY  THE   TIBER. 

tree  up  by  the  roots  as  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  fashions  a  frail  snow-anemone  that  a  human 
breath  would  break,  but  that  the  blasts  of  air  swerve 
out  of  their  courses  to  spare,  as  it  hangs  trembling 
in  fairy  beauty,  the  pet  and  nursling  of  the  whirl- 
winds ! 

How  nobly  stirring  was  that  fearless  outcry  of  in- 
dignation over  wrong,  that  fearless  searching  out  of 
iniquity,  that  confident  breasting  of  any  height  that 
the  world  can  raise,  that  bold  curiosity  which  is  the 
base  of  all  knowledge !  Atalanta,  thou  swift  runner 
among  nations,  stumbling  a  little  over  the  golden 
apples,  but  overtaken  only  by  love  !  "  A  soul  femi- 
nine saluteth  thee  "  across  the  seas  ! 

"Will  the  Olympians  give  me  anything  in  ex- 
change ? "  the  traveller  asked ;  and  answered  herself, 
"  Yes,  if  they  give  me  four  walls  of  iny  own  to  shield 
me  from,  the  world,  and  my  own  roof  for  a  balda- 
chino." 

After  a  few  hours  came  the  final  parting,  and  then 
the  awful  hour  when,  for  the  first  time  to  her,  all  the 
world  went  down  behind  the  sea. 

But  Nature  is  as  unwearied  in  her  wiles  as  she  is 
inexhaustible  in  her  treasures.  The  transparent  high- 
way down  which  the  light  sank  in  green  and  blue, 
the  foam  that  ran  under  the  water  to  show  its  milky 
beryl,  the  waves  that  beckoned  like  sirens  from  many 
an  unstable  mimic  island,  all  that  life  in  which,  while 
most  reposing,  they  were  yet  as  unresting  as  their 
own  beating  hearts,  —  it  was  first  a  distraction,  and 
then  a  delight.  Then  London,  which  she  found  and 
left  in  a  November  fog ;  then  Paris,  the  bonbonni&re  of 
the  world ;  and  still  onward,  till  there  rose  a  certain 
height  with  a  cross  set  upon  it;  and,  "I  think  I 
climbed  there  and  set  that  cross,"  Valeria  said  to 
her  travelling  companion.  "  And  I  must  have  played 
here  in  some  sunny,  forgotten  childhood." 


CASA  PASSARINA.  35 

Then,  one  after  another,  the  towns  which  so  disap- 
point arid .  so  satisfy  at  once,  —  the  satisfaction  deep, 
the  disappointment  superficial.  "  I  know  now,"  said 
Valeria,  "why  everybody  loves  Italy,  and  feels  at 
home  in  it:  it  is  because  it  is  like  ourselves,  —  a 
mingling  of  splendors  and  miseries.  Mrs.  Browning 
calls  it  the  '  land  of  souls.'  It  is  the  land  of  souls  in 
bodies." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CASA   PASSARINA. 

VALERIA  accompanied  Mrs.  Grey,  her  travelling 
companion,  to  a  large  boarding-house  where 
that  lady  always  stopped  when  in  Rome.  Casa  Passa- 
rina  occupied  the  second  floors,  or,  more  properly,  the 
secondi  piani,  of  three  houses  all  thrown  into  one 
apartment,  which  had  its  ups  and  downs  of  high 
rooms  for  high  prices  and  low  rooms  for  moderate 
ones.  The  centre  of  the  house,  comprising  dining- 
room,  drawing-room,  and  boudoir,  was  common  prop- 
erty. The  eastern  end  of  the  long  apartment  had  a 
number  of  comfortable  low  bedrooms,  which  were 
called  sunny,  because  on  clear  mornings  the  sun 
looked  into  them  for  half  an  hour  out  of  the  corner 
of  hts  eye ;  and  the  western  end  contained  some 
rather  showy  chambers,  and  two  small  suites  occu- 
pied by  two  of  the  ladies. 

The  American  boarders  divided  the  house  into  up 
and  down  town  ;  the  English,  into  West  End  and 
City ;  and  all  were  pleased  with  their  lodgings 
wherever  they  might  be  situated.  For  the  house 
was  thoroughly  well  kept,  and  the  landlady,  the 
Widow  Passarina,  a  treasure  of  her  kind.  She  was  a 


36  BY  THE   TIBER. 

large,  pleasant-faced  woman  between  fifty  and  sixty 
years  of  age,  gracefully  cordial  in  manners,  and  full 
of  life  and  tact.  She  assumed  that  all  the  mem- 
bers of  her  family,  as  she  called  it,  were  devotedly 
fond  of  each  other,  and  wished  infinite  good  to  herself; 
she  knew  how  to  sympathize  with  the  present  plain- 
tiff without  saying  anything  against  the  absent 
defendant,  and  had  such  a  pleading  manner  of  ad- 
monishing a  quarrelsome  or  insolent  person  that  she 
seemed  to  be  imploring  the  grace  of  a  benignant 
sovereign. 

The  family  gave  her  something  to  do,  indeed,  in 
the  way  of  peace-making ;  for  it  comprised  members 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth.  There  were 
Americans  and  English,  pretending  to  like  each  other 
immensely,  but  missing  no  opportunity  to  give  each 
other  a  little  wholesome  correction  ;  there  were  Ger- 
mans, hated  up  by  French  and  'down  by  Danes  and 
diagonally  by  various  other  nations ;  and  there  was 
an  Irishman  who  loved  everybody  so  much,  himself 
first  of  all,  that  everybody  in  turn  was  angry  with 
him. 

But  these  enmities  were,  after  all,  chiefly  geographi- 
cal, and  did  not  prevent  a  good  deal  of  pleasant  talk 
and  some  kind  feeling  between  the  belligerents ;  the 
more  so  that  there  were  other  differences,  more  near 
and  bitter  than  national  ones,  which  formed  new 
angles  of  opinion  and  new  alliances.  National  foes 
could  forget  their  cicatrized  wounds  for  the  moment, 
and  meet  half-way  to  resent  the  bleeding  wounds  of 
a  newer  warfare. 

"  Saxon  and  Norman  and  Dane,  though  we  be. 
We  are  each  all  Dane  " 

in  the  papal  or  anti-papal  cause. 

It  must  be  owned  that  this  combat  was  not  con- 
ducted on  either  side  with  a  very  admirable  dignity. 


CASA  PASSARINA.  37 

It  consisted  chiefly  of  what  we  may  figuratively  call 
kicks  and  pinches  and  twits,  and  small  triumphs 
celebrated  after  the  manner  of  the  "  cock  that  crows 
in  the  morn,"  rather  than  of  the  swift  sabre-thrust 
that  leaves  a  saddle  empty,  or  the  fine  artillery- 
thunder  that  opens  a  new  red  river-bed  through  the 
solid  ranks  of  the  foe.  It  was,  however,  a  copy  in 
small  of  the  social  state  of  Home  at  that  time,  which 
suggested  the  idea  of  two  armies  drawn  up  face  to 
face,  each  one  trembling  in  its  shoes,  and  whispering 
in  its  ranks  the  most  injurious  things  of  the  other. 

How  the  great  actors  in  the  drama  liked  their 
chorus,  or  if  they  gave  it  a  thought,  would  be 
hard  to  guess.  It  is  doubtful  if  either  Prometheus 
or  Jove  would  have  felt  himself  greatly  helped  or 
honored  on  seeing  a  lady  partisan,  with  a  fly-away 
bonnet  miraculously  sustained  on  a  chignon  which 
projected  it  quite  beyond  the  outline  of  the  skull, 
and  a  nose  very  much  in  the  air  at  the  other  ex- 
tremity of  the  head,  refuse  haughtily  to  partake  of 
refreshment  at  a  reception  where  her  rival  Titaness 
or  Olyinpianess  was  admitted.  It  might  have  been 
considered  wiser  by  some  had  she  smilingly  accepted 
a  seat  at  the  table,  and  with  it  the  opportunity  to 
poison  her  opponent  in  a  cup  of  tea. 

At  the  earnest  prayer  of  the  Signora  Passarina,  the 
subject  of  the  Pope  and  the  Italian  kingdom  was 
partially  avoided  in  open  discussion ;  but  the  bianchi 
and  the  neri  showed  their  colors,  notwithstanding. 
The  nere  liked  to  wear  yellow  ribbons  upon  occasion, 
and  to  come  rustling  in  to  breakfast  in  the  papal 
court  toilet,  to  show  that  they  were  just  from  the 
Vatican,  and  they  had  a  way  of  leaving  the  Voce  ddla 
Verita  newspapers  about,  of  reckoning  time  by  festa 
days  instead  of  days  of  the  month,  and  the  hours 
of  the  day  from  Am  Maria,  which  left  no  doubt  as 
to  their  opinions.  The  position  of  a  new-comer  might 


38  BY  THE    TIBER. 

always  be  guessed  by  observing  how  she  would  reply 
to  a  question  as  to  the  time  of  day.  On  their  side, 
the  bianchi  opposed  the  tricolor  to  the  yellow,  the 
Liberia  to  the  Voce,  the  Venti  Settembre  to  the 
dieciotto  Giugno,  and  the  smile  of  the  conqueror  to 
the  bile  of  the  conquered. 

In  short,  human  nature  on  one  side  did  precisely 
what  human  nature  on  the  other  side  would  have 
done,  had  their  positions  been  reversed ;  and  that 
one  of  these  parties  did  not  leave  the  house,  or  chase 
the  other  away,  was  due  to  the  fact  that  there  was  an 
element  of  justice  and  common-sense  in  each  which 
knew  how  to  soften  the  asperities  of  that  partisan- 
ship which  was  only  a  conviction  of  the  passions. 
Mr.  O'Hara,  a  cameriere  segreto  of  the  Pope,  took 
pains  to  be  very  polite  to  Captain  Marini  of  the 
king's  guards  when  the  latter  came  to  see  Miss  Lilian 
Marshall ;  and  the  Signora  Passarina,  whose  liberal- 
ism was  whispered  to  be  without  bounds,  almost 
went  on  her  knees  to  every  Monsignore  who  crossed 
her  threshold.  Others  helped ;  and,  thanks  to  the 
multiplicity  of  these  conflicting  influences,  the  modi- 
cum of  harmony  necessary  to  preserve  the  community 
was  saved  from  destruction. 

When  our  two  travellers  arrived  at  Casa  Passariua, 
early  on  a  bright  November  morning,  Mrs.  Grey  asked 
to  be  shown  the  rooms  already  engaged  for  them. 

"  Your  old  rooms  were  taken,"  the  Passarina  said. 
"  But  there  are  still  better." 

Valeria,  who  had  listened  to  Mrs.  Grey's  glowing 
descriptions  on  the  way,  looked  with  astonishment  at 
these  chambers,  and  asked  herself  if  she  was  to  live 
in  an  old  curiosity  shop.  In  the  hurry  and  excite- 
ment of  travel  she  had  scarcely  glanced  at  any  of  the 
rooms  she  had  occupied  since  leaving  her  own  beauti- 
ful American  chamber,  with  its  plate-glass  windows 
that  went  up  or  down  at  a  touch,  and  stopped  where 


CASA  PASSARINA.  39 

they  were  bid,  its  hot  and  cold  water,  ever  ready  at 
the  bright  faucets,  and,  above  all,  its  obvious  and  un- 
mistakable cleanliness. 

"  I  dare  say  you  may  feel  disappointed  at  first,  since 
you  have  been  brought  up  on  fresh  paint,"  Mrs.  Grey 
said ;  "  but  you  will  be  delighted  by  and  by.  Passa- 
rina  bought  this  furniture  at  sales  and  in  out-of-the- 
way  places  before  people  had  fairly  waked  up  to  the 
value  of  old  things ;  and  now  you  could  scarcely  get 
such  stuff  for  money." 

"  I  should  hope  not ! "  said  Valeria,  and  pointed  to 
a  little  skeleton-iron  stand  on  which  rested  an  object 
which  she  had  not  beheld  since  her  childish  days,  — 
a  white  delf  basin  and  pitcher,  both  a  little  chipped 
and  slightly  leaning  to  one  side,  the  pitcher  capable 
of  holding  two  quarts. 

Mrs.  Grey  calmly  poured  water  into  the  basin.  "I 
presume,"  she  remarked,  "  that  you  did  not  expect  to 
live  in  an  old  Roman  house,  and  have  the  Mississippi 
or  the  Connecticut  —  or  was  it  the  Penobscot  ?  —  now 
through  your  dressing-room." 

"O  foam-bells  of  Arethusa!"  ejaculated  Valeria, 
sotto  voce,  gazing  at  the  chipped  pitcher.  "  O  spirits 
of  the  vasty  deep !  O  shades  of  Diocletian  and  Cara- 
calla  •  —  But  I  want  you  to  understand,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden  turn,  "  that  American  rivers  are  not  to 
be  sneered  at  even  in  Rome." 

From  the  depths  of  a  large  fringed  towel  in  which 
Mrs.  Grey's  face  was  being  dried,  issued  a  few  half- 
stifled  bars  of  "  Hail  Columbia." 

Valeria  looked  about  her.  "  I  will  own,"  she  said 
presently,  "  that  those  spindle-legged,  intarsio  bu- 
reaus have  an  air  of  prim  gentility,  like  proper  ancient 
maidens  who  wear  the  most  heavenly  old  laces  over 
their  flat,  narrow  gowns;  and  the  chairs  that  stand 
on  hoofs  or  claws  bring  certain  quaint  mythological 
stories  to  mind.  There  is  a  large  red-leather  three- 


40  BY  THE   TIBER. 

legged  chair  on  hoofs  that  I  am  going  to  take  into 
my  own  room  at  once.  How  many  charming  people 
must  have  sat  in  this  chair  !  I  will  add  one  to  their 
number,"  seating  herself.  "  The  bedsteads  are  brass. 
They  could  n't  be  better  unless  they  were  silver  or 
gold.  And  will  you  look  at  that  altogether  too  lovely 
lamp !  Italy  is  the  land  of  beautiful  lamps.  We 
shall  find  Aladdin's  here  some  day.  And,  Mrs. 
Grey,  will  you  see  what  she  has  given  you  for  a 
paper-weight,  and  what  I  am  going  to  take  away 
from  you  instantly  ?  It  is  a  fragment  of  cipollino 
from  some  ancient  pilaster,  fluted  on  one  side,  the 
fresh  fractures  all  glittering  green  and  silver.  It  is 
probably  a  petrified  bit  of  one  of  the  four  rivers  of 
Paradise." 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  exchange  rooms  with  me  ? " 
Mrs.  Grey  asked,  viewing  these  depredations  with  a 
wondering  smile ;  for  Valeria  had  carried  the  chair  to 
the  door  of  her  own  room,  and  laid  the  paper-weight 
on  the  cushion  of  it,  preparatory  to  walking  them 
both  quite  away. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you  !  I  prefer  my  own.  Besides,  it 
will  be  so  pleasant  to  see  the  sweetness  with  which 
you  are  going  to  allow  me  to  take  all  the  loveliest 
things  out  of  your  chamber,  and  give  you  in  exchange 
all  the  ugliest  things  in  mine.  And  you  know  per- 
fectly well  that  you  would  rather  have  a  neat,  respect- 
able little  bronze  lizard  than  this  broken  bit  of  cipol- 
lino, which  you  would  have  called  rubbish  if  I  had 
not  told  you  that  it  is  beautiful.  It  would  be  still 
more  beautiful  with  a  fresh,  fragrant  pink  laid  on 
it.  How  I  love  pinks !  Did  you  see  the  little  St. 
John's  bouquet  that  Lombardi  painted  for  me  last 
year  when  he  was  here,  —  a  bunch  of  pinks  set  round 
with  lavender,  the  long,  long  stems  bound  around 
with  a  bright  golden  straw  gathered  from  a  newly 
cut  wheat-field  ?  It  was  a  sonnet  in  color.  You 


CASA   PASSARINA.  41 

shall  have  my  lizard.  Here  he  is.  See  what  a 
society  air  he  has !  Does  n't  he  look  like  a  nice, 
slim  young  man  in  a  tailcoat  ?  If  you  could  turn 
him  over,  you  would  find  a  little  starched  white 
cravat  all  properly  tied.  You  shall  have  my  pretty 
blue  chintz  arm-chair,  too.  It  will  just  suit  you. 
You  were  made  for  chintz.  And  you  can  sit  con- 
tentedly in  a  blue  chair.  I  cannot.  It  is  like  sitting 
on  the  sky.  Even  the  gods  and  goddesses  had  the 
grace  to  put  a  cloud  under  them  when  they  sat  down. 
There  should  be  sumptuary  laws  for  the  use  of 
blue." 

"  Are  you  insane,  my  dear  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Grey 
mildly,  looking  at  her  back  hair  in  a  hand-glass. 

"  Perfectly  ! "  responded  Valeria.  "  But  don't  be 
alarmed.  My  insanity  is  not  catching." 

"  I  never  heard  you  rattle  on  so  before,"  the  lady 
said  plaintively. 

"  Because  you  never  before  saw  me  on  a  festa  day 
that  calls  out  all  my  population.  There  are  gamins 
in  my  city.  It  is  n't  half  a  dull  town  when  the 
people  are  wide  awake." 

Mrs.  Grey  resignedly  gave  herself  little  soft  dabs 
of  pearl-powder.     Valeria   carried   away   her   spoil, 
came  back,  stood  looking  out   into  the  street  for  a 
moment,  then  went  arid   kissed   her  companion  on" 
both  cheeks. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  you  have  ever  kissed  me," 
Mrs.  Grey  said  beamingly.  She  liked  all  her  lady 
friends  to  kiss  her. 

"  It  is  not  at  all  a  personal  kiss,  you  know," 
Valeria  explained.  "  It  means  that  I  am  so  over- 
flowing with  contentment  just  at  this  moment  that 
I  must  kiss  some  one.  I  am  glad  that  your  soft, 
sweet,  though  somewhat  powdery  cheeks  happen  to 
be  in  the  way.  Half  the  kisses  we  give,  you  know, 
and  the  best  half,  are  not  meant  for  the  persons  who 


42  BY  THE    TIBER. 

receive  them.  A  great  part  are  meant  for  the  per- 
sons who  give  them." 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  am  not  so  hypocritical,"  Mrs. 
Grey  said  disapprovingly. 

"  It  is  not  hypocrisy,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  've  forgotten  why.  When  you  have  your  con- 
clusion, the  premises  go  to  the  rag-bag.  It  is 
annoying  to  keep  a  great  rubbish  of  whys  and 
wherefores  about  one's  mind.  But  the  conclusion 
is  correct.  Oh !  you  need  not  look  so  incredulous 
and  superior.  I  know  my  conclusions  from  my 
impressions  by  the  feel  of  them,  as  quickly  as  I 
know  the  touch  of  a  crystal  from  the  touch  of  a 
flower.  If  you  had  piled  up  a  mountain  in  order  to 
get  a  mouse  out  of  it,  would  n't  you  recognize  .that 
mouse  instantly  as  an  elaborated  animal  every  time 
it  caught  your  eyes,  even  though  you  might  have 
mislaid  the  mountain  ?  " 

Mrs.  Grey  looked  at  her  companion,  stretched  her 
mind  to  its  utmost,  and  grasped  her. 

"  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  you  are  the 
least  in  the  world  like  a  carpet-bagger,"  she  said. 
"  I  never  saw  any  one  who  had  such  a  hatred  of  what 
she  considers  unnecessary  possessions,  or  who  travels 
through  life,  both  physically  and  mentally,  in  such 
light  marching  order." 

Valeria  reciprocated  the  look.  What  an  odd  way 
some  people  have  of  making  those  personal  remarks  ! 
she  thought,  They  are  constantly  calling  one's 
attention  to  one's  self.  Yet  I  seldom  criticise  them, 
though  it  would  be  easy  to  do  so.  They  must  be 
taught  better.  But  how  ?  Probably  by  destroying 
their  self-complacency.  "  I  wonder,"  she  said  aloud, 
"  that  you  could  not  have  found  a  finer  comparison 
than  a  carpet-bagger.  Out  of  civility,  I  could  think 
of  a  thousand  fine  things  to  say  to  you  which  you  do 
not  in  the  least  merit." 


CASA   PASSARINA.  43 

"  No ;  the  only  fine  thing  I  could  have  thought  of 
would  have  been  the  troubadour  with  his  pack  and 
his  lute,"  Mrs.  Grey  said. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  thoughtful  and 
secretly  pained  on  one  side,  watchful  and  complacent 
on  the  other.  Then  Valeria  went  toward  her  own 
room,  singing  softly  as  she  went, — 

"  Senza  terra,  e  senza  tetto, 
Di  valsente  sprovveduto, 
Va  ramingo  il  poveretto 
Col  tardello  e  col  liuto. 
II  liuto  ed  il  fardello 
Non  toccar  del  menestrello." 

Having  passed  the  door,  still  singing,  she  closed  it 
behind  her.  Then,  sinking  into  her  red-leather,  three- 
legged,  antelope-hoofed  chair,  and  dismissing  two  large 
tears  with  her  benediction,  she  set  herself  to  study- 
ing out  what  wind  and  weather  of  life,  and  chymistry 
of  human  nature  had  formed  that  thought,  that  the 
apparent  object  of  almost  every  human  affection  is 
but  the  feather  to  an  arrow  which  has  elsewhere  its 
mark. 

She  had  scarcely  begun  that  most  delightful  of 
wild  Diana  hunts,  the  chase  of  an  idea,  with  the 
fluttering  garments  of  a  hundred  fanciful  nymphs  on 
the  wind,  and  the  silvery  glad  baying  of  the  hounds 
of  the  seven  senses,  now  one  catching  the  scent,  now 
another,  and  the  whizzing  of  arrowy  thoughts,  all 
sweeping  along  in  that  speed  and  life  of  upper  air 
which  makes  one  smile  unconsciously,  when  the  door 
of  her  room  opened  and  Mrs.  Grey  appeared. 

"  Pray  don't  stay  here  moping  all  alone,"  she  said. 
"  Come  out  and  be  introduced  to  some  of  the  ladies." 
Then  seeing  the  only  half-comprehending  face  that 
Valeria  turned  upon  her,  she  added,  "  What  are  you 
laughing  at  ? " 

"Nothing,"  replied  Valeria. 


44  BY  THE    TIBER. 

There  were  several  ladies  in  the  house  who  had 
known  Mrs.  Grey  on  her  former  visits  to  Rome,  and 
they  came  to  welcome  her  back.  She  was  one  of 
those  persons,  tanto  buono  che  non  val  niente,  who 
never  have  enemies.  People  forgot  all  about  her  when 
she  disappeared ;  and  when  she  came  back,  saw  her 
with  something  of  that  pleased  surprise  we  feel  on 
perceiving  an  unappropriated  cushion  at  the  other  end 
of  the  long,  hard  bench  on  which  we  have  been 
sitting. 

The  first  visitor  was  Miss  Chaplin,  a  maiden  lady 
of  fifty- five.  Catholic  maiden  ladies  of  a  certain  age 
go  to  Rome  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  Miss  Chaplin 
was  tall,  pale,  gentle,  and  slow  of  speech,  and  had  an 
air  of  grace  and  but  half-faded  beauty  hanging  about 
her  like  a  veil. 

"  Miss  Ellsworth  is  a  convert,  and  quite  as  devoted 
as  you  are,"  Mrs.  Grey  said  in  introducing  the  two  to 
each  other. 

Miss  Chaplin  looked  at  Valeria  with  her  sweet,  pale 
smile,  then  bent  and  kissed  her,  holding  her  hand  a 
moment  while  sitting  beside  her. 

Mrs.  Cariui  was  another  visitor,  —  a  dreadful  little 
woman,  puffing  with  spirit  and  enthusiasm,  and  a  de- 
sire to  know  everything  and  tell  everything,  never 
letting  any  one  complete  a  sentence  unless  he  had 
strength  of  lungs  to  shout  her  dowrn.  After  half  an 
hour's  verbal  combat  with  this  lady,  one  could  not 
help  wishing  that  the  engineer  who  ran  that  machine 
would  come.  She  told  and  asked  the  news,  directed 
everybody  what  to  do,  pronounced  upon  everything, 
and  made  herself  so  annoying  even  where  she  wished 
to  please,  that  it  was  a  pity. 

"Miss  Croino  hasn't  come  back  yet,"  she  said. 
"  She  is  later  than  usual  this  year.  She  went  to 
Switzerland  and  from  there  to  Paris,  where  she  is  buy- 
ing her  winter  things.  She  expects  to  come  back  in 


CASA   PASSARINA.  45 

a  week  or  two,  and  I  am  quite  impatient ;  for  I  want 
to  see  how  her  dresses  are  made." 

Others  came  in,  and  Miss  Chaplin  and  Valeria  re- 
tired to  a  window  to  talk  over  a  subject  most  inter- 
esting to  them  both.  This  was  but  two  or  three  years 
after  that  20th  of  September  which  gave  Rome  to 
Italy,  and  party  feeling  still  ran  high.  The  one  side 
watched  jealously  to  preserve  its  as  yet  unsteady  foot- 
hold, and  menaced  whatever  endangered  it ;  the  other 
listened  for  the  tramp  of  allied  armies  that  never 
came,  and  believed  that  the  echoes  dying  away  about 
the  world  were  the  multitudinous  voices  of  rising 
nations.  They  could  not  believe  that  the  old  thunder- 
ous music  of  the  centuries  was  a  song  that  is  sung, 
and  that  there  should  survive  of  it  only  the  sigh  that 
trembles  along  the  heart-strings  of  the  penitent,  and 
the  canticle  of  the  soul  which  has  triumphed  only 
over  it-self. 

Valeria  was  surprised  to  learn  that  she  would  be 
able  to  practise  her  religion  without  the  slightest  hin- 
derance,  and  that  even  priests  could  go  about  the 
streets  without  insult. 

"  I  have  heard  that  it  was  different,"  she  said ;  "  and 
I  came  here  almost  believing  that  martyrdom  was 
again  possible.  Ever  since  I  first  thought  of  coming 
to  Italy,  I  have  been  haunted  by  a  presentiment  that 
I  was  to  suffer  something  peculiar  in  Rome  from  no 
fault  of  my  own,  something  relating  to  my  religion,  a 
suffering  which  should  be  almost,  or  quite,  to  death." 

"  Yet  you  came,"  Miss  Chaplin  said. 

"  Oh  !  that  would  not  have  prevented  my  coming," 
Valeria  replied  seriously.  "  It  is  always  '  sweet  and 
becoming '  to  die  for  a  noble  cause.  However,"  she 
added  with  a  smile,  "as  there  seems  to  be  no  pres- 
ent hope  of  our  being  thrown  to  the  lions,  we  must 
try  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  being  let  alone — is  it 
severely  ? " 


46  BY  THE    TIBER. 

The  other  visitors  withdrew,  leaving  but  one  with 
Mrs.  Grey.  This  was  a  lady  about  forty  years  of  age, 
small,  very  quietly  dressed,  and  very  quiet  of  manner, 
though  she  talked  in  her  way  nearly  as  much  as  Mrs. 
Carini  did.  Every  time  she  addressed  Mrs.  Grey,  she 
said  "  dear  Mrs.  Grey."  She  held  by  the  hand  a  little 
girl  of  six  years,  and  from  time  to  time  she  caressed 
the  child,  and  smiled  into  her  sweet  and  serious  face. 
Her  smiles  were  all  an  effort  of  the  will,  and  though 
well  meant,  were  rather  mechanical. 

"  You  must  know  Miss  Pendleton,"  Miss  Chaplin 
said  to  Valeria.  "  She  is  very  good.  She  wished  to 
be  a  nun ;  but  her  family  made  so  much  opposition 
that  she  yielded  to  them.  But  she  lives  the  life  of  a 
nun.  She  lodges  in  a  convent,  and  devotes  her  life  to 
charitable  works.  She  is  very  kind  to  that  child,  who 
is  an  orphan  niece  of  Mrs.  Gordon,  one  of  the  boarders 
here.  Mrs.  Gordon  is  too  much  occupied  with  society 
and  with  finding  a  husband  for  her  daughter  to  trouble 
herself  much  about  the  child." 

Valeria  had  some  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and 
the  rare  habit  of  using  her  knowledge.  She  did  not 
study  faces,  she  read  them  intuitively ;  and  never  had 
she  neglected  a  warning  given  her  by  some  face  in 
despite  of  itself,  without  repenting  afterward  of  that 
negligence.  Most  persons  are  as  easily  deceived  by 
those  whom  they  know  to  be  deceitful,  and  as  blindly 
influenced  by  those  whom  they  know  to  be  intriguing, 
as  though  the  alphabet  of  human  nature  were  un- 
known to  them. 

Miss  Pendleton's  face  had  that  unpleasant  contra- 
diction of  a  remarkably  suave  manner  over  unmistak- 
able indications  of  a  strong  and  persistent  will.  The 
will  might  be  rightly  directed ;  but  if  wrongly  directed, 
this  outward  sweetness  and  prudence  would  make  the 
woman  strong  for  evil.  A  frank  nature  resents  such 
a  combination. 


A  FAMILY  MEETING.  47 

Coldness  has  the  right  to  be  reserved ;  but  one  does 
not  like  to  be  caressed  through  a  veil. 

Miss  Pendleton  rose,  and,  still  holding  little  Marie 
by  the  hand,  came  to  the  window,  smiling  as  usual,  to 
make  Valeria's  acquaintance. 

"  I  wish  she  had  not  that  habit  of  drawing  her 
mouth  up  tightly,  as  if  she  did  not  mean  to  let  a  word 
pass  without  being  questioned,"  Valeria  thought.  "  It 
reminds  one  of  a  prison.  Perhaps  she  is  excellent.  I 
think  she  is.  But  she  is  too  guarded  to  be  pleasant. 
And  I  wish  that  she  would  not  love  me  so  much  all 
at  once." 

Little  Marie  performed  her  blushing  salutations 
with  careful,  but  timid  grace.  "  She  is  going  with  me 
to  a  Benediction  in  Sant'  Andrea,"  Miss  Pendleton 
said. 

"  But  you  have  already  been  with  me  this  morning 
to  a  Benediction  in  San  Carlino,  little  dear,"  Miss 
Chaplin  said  to  the  child.  "  You  can  receive  only  one 
Benediction  in  a  day.  The  Lord  has  no  more  for  you 
now.  It  is  useless  for  you  to  go." 

The  fair  face  clouded  for  an  instant,  then  brightened 
with  an  angelic  smile.  "  I  like  to  see  Him  bless  other 
people,"  said  Marie. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  FAMILY   MEETING. 

OUR  travellers  did  not  join  the  family  till  dinner- 
time of  the  day  after  their  arrival.  Mrs.  Grey 
was  employed  in  getting  rid  of  a  freckle,  and  Valeria  in 
refreshing  herself  after  the  fatigues,  mental  and  phys- 
ical, of  their  journey,  with  an  immense  sleep.  After 
nearly  twenty-four  hours'  immersion  in  that  sweet 


48  BY  THE    TIBER. 

and  all-restoring  Lethe,  rousing  herself  from  time  to 
time  to  say,  "  Not  yet !  not  yet ! "  and  dreaming  de- 
liciously  away  into  unconsciousness  again,  Nature 
gave  the  signal  of  assent  to  returning  life.  "  All  hail 
to  my  sisters  Eve  and  Aphrodite  ! "  she  said.  "  The 
one  fresh  out  of  nothingness,  as  the  other  out  of  the 
sea,  and  I  out  of  sleep.  Mrs.  Grey,  I  am  just  half 
an  hour  old." 

"  Your  inexperienced  age  will,  I  hope,  excuse  our 
being  a  little  late  to  dinner,"  Mrs.  Grey  remarked. 

The  people  at  the  dinner-table  were  very  pleasant. 
Each  had  a  smile  for  the  new-comers.  The  news  of 
the  day  were  told ;  the  inevitable  quarrels  were  decked 
with  smiles  and  roses,  and  seemed  to  be  rather  amus- 
ing little  imps.  The  dinner  was  well  served,  and 
several  of  the  ladies  who  were  going  out  afterward 
wore  gay  toilets. 

Valeria  sat  between  Lilian  Marshall,  a  tall  Amer- 
ican girl  with  brilliant  dark  eyes  and  a  wild-rose 
color,  and  Mr.  Clive  Willis,  a  novelist. 

The  pretty  coquette,  who  rejoiced  in  her  beauty  as 
a  butterfly  in  its  wings,  and  flirted  as  naturally  as  she 
breathed,  complimented  the  novelist  over  the  shoul- 
ders of  Valeria,  who  could  not  believe  that  the  few 
magazine  stories  she  had  written  had  made  her  fa- 
mous, and  was  not  quite  pleased  at  being  made  ridic- 
ulous by  over-praise. 

From  the  other  side  came  responsive  compliments, 
of  which  also  she  was  the  vicarious  recipient. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  write  next  ? " 
she  asked  at  length,  confidentially. 

"  Do  tell  me  ! "  exclaimed  Lilian  Marshall,  not  caring 
a  fig,  but  looking  up  with  a  glowing  interest  which 
displayed  her  fine  eyes  to  the  greatest  advantage. 

"  A  new  version  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,"  said  Va- 
leria. "The  wall  is  to  be  a  simple  New  England 
woman,  and  Thisbe  will  have  such  eyes !  Pyramus 


A   FAMILY  MEETING.  49 

is  to  be  an  author,  and  he  will  have  " —  she  glanced 
at  Mr.  Clive  Willis's  head  —  "  yes,  he  will  have  curly 
black  hair." 

"  How  charming  ! "  said  Miss  Marshall  coolly,  help- 
ing herself  to  a  bunch  of  golden-green,  rose-clouded 
muscatels,  while  the  gentleman  hid  his  blushes  in  a 
wine-glass.  "  And  do  tell  me  who  is  to  be  the  lion, 
and  if  he  will  tear  poor  Thisbe  into  inch  pieces." 

"Do  not  imagine  that  he  will  be  a  soft-hearted 
Snug,  the  joiner,"  was  the  stern  reply.  "  The  lion 
will  be  a  pretty  woman  ! " 

Lilian  gave  a  little  cry.     "  Thisbe  is  lost ! " 

"  I  will  eat  up  the  vile,  pretty  woman  myself ! " 
cried  Mr.  Willis,  recovering  from  his  momentary 
abasement. 

Valeria  leaned  backward  slightly,  that  Lilian's 
glance  of  beaming  gratitude  might  have  its  full  effect, 
unimpeded  by  her  neck-ribbon.  "  I  had  forgotten 
that  you  are  a  lion,"  she  said. 

Refreshed  and  made  better  acquainted  by  this  short 
dialogue,  the  three  pursued  their  dinner  for  a  moment 
in  silence. 

Mrs.  Gordon,  an  elderly,  showy  woman,  sat  oppo- 
site with  her  daughter  Fanny,  who  was  twenty  years 
old,  and  had  a  nice  little  head  to  put  a  bonnet  on. 

"  I  am  positive  that  we  shall  every  one  of  us  ap- 
pear in  print  this  year,"  the  young  lady  said.  "  It  is 
quite  too  dreadful.  Mr.  Willis  is  writing  a  novel  of 
Italian  society,  or  society  in  Italy,  and  now  we  have 
another  writer." 

Both  writers  looked  at  the  girl. 

"  I  will  put  you  in  print  if  you  want  me  to,  my 
dear,"  Valeria  said  kindly.  "  It  would  n't  take  me  two 
minutes." 

The  girl's  face  shone  with  delight.  "  I  will  run 
away  if  you  do  ! "  she  protested. 

"  I  should  not  like  my  daughter  to  be  made  pub- 
4 


50  BY  THE    TIBER. 

lie,"  Mrs.  Gordon  said,  studying  doubtfully  over  the 
last  part  of  Valeria's  speech,  and  comparing  it  with 
the  countenance  of  the  speaker. 

"  It  would  be  such  a  pity  for  the  world  to  lose 
those  ears ! "  Mr.  Willis  said,  glancing  at  the  lovely 
pink  shells  with  which  nature  had  adorned  the  young 
lady's  head.  "  I  promise  not  to  paint  your  whole 
portrait,  Miss  Fanny.  I  never  do  that  for  any  one, 
though  I  am  accused  of  it.  My  portraits  are  compo- 
sitions. For  example,  I  see  a  woman  with  wonder- 
ful hair.  I  take  her  scalp,  so  to  speak,  and  throw 
away  the  woman.  Some  stupid  man,  myself  prob- 
ably, misses  an  opportunity  to  say  a  bright  thing.  I 
take  the  opportunity,  and  —  may  I  be  allowed  to 
hope  ?  —  say  the  bright  thing.  It  seems  to  me  harm- 
less." 

"Your  characters  are  frequently  charming,  Mr. 
Willis,"  Mrs.  Gordon  said.  "  But  you  must  excuse 
my  saying  that,  according  to  my  view,  you  lay  too 
much  stress  upon  good  impulses,  and  too  little  on 
good  principles." 

"  I  own,"  the  author  replied  humbly,  "  that  I  pre- 
fer good  impulses  acted  upon,  to  good  principles  only 
talked  about." 

"  But,"  she  began  — 

"  Precisely ! "  he  struck  in,  foreseeing  a  sermon, 
"  But  allow  me  to  make  a  comparison.  A  human 
being,  we  may  say,  is  a  spirit  leading  a  beast.  The 
principles,  good  or  bad,  are  with  the  spirit ;  the  im- 
pulses, good  or  bad,  with  the  beast.  Now  a  good 
spirit  may  have  a  bad  beast,  but  a  bad  spirit  seldom, 
if  ever,  has  a  good  beast.  An  angel  leading  a  lamb  is 
very  fine,  but  unusual ;  an  angel  conquering  a  tiger 
is  sublime,  but  also  unusual.  Given,  then,  the  aver- 
age human  soul,  a  fallen  and  fettered  angel,  don't 
you  think  that  the  sort  of  animal  he  has  to  manage 
is  a  matter  of  importance  ?  Don't  you  think  that  he 


A   FAMILY  MEETING.  51 

might  get  an  occasional  fall  if  he  were  mounted  on  a 
wildcat  or  a  donkey  ? " 

"  I  bet  my  money  on  the  donkey ! "  called  out 
Master  Thomas  Clouden,  a  dreadful  American  boy, 
from  the  opposite  end  of  the  table. 

"  A  propos  of  donkeys,"  began  a  very  delicate 
voice  — 

"  In  my  opinion,"  said  Professor  Wagner,  in  a  very 
loud  tone.  He  had  for  some  time  been  trying  to 
obtain  a  hearing. 

Everybody  looked  at  him. 

"  In  my  opinion,"  he  repeated  in  a  subdued  key, 
"  there  is  no  greater  outrage  than  to  show  up  a  person 
in  print." 

The  Professor,  who  had  lost  his  hair  at  thirty,  yet 
who  wore  the  most  beautiful  blond  curls  at  sixty, 
had  figured  in  a  recent  story  as  Professor  Wignor. 

"  Dante  showed  up  people,"  Mr.  Willis  said. 

The  German,  being  an  enthusiastic  Dantean  scholar, 
paused  to  recover  from  this  shock.  He  could  see  the 
evident  retort,  could  see  his  way,  indeed,  to  retort  on 
the  probable  rejoinder;  but  he  was  too  good  a  chess- 
player to  be  satisfied  with  foreseeing  only  two  moves. 

"And  some  of  the  great  painters  showed  their 
enemies  up  on  canvas,  which  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,"  added  Lilian,  and  gave  the  Professor  a  smile 
which  had  on  him  something  of  the  effect  of  a  sun- 
stroke. 

"I  do  not  say  that  you  are  quite  wrong,"  Mr. 
Willis  resumed.  "  It  is  unjustifiable  and  indelicate 
to  betray  confidences,  or  to  punish  publicly  a  private 
offence.  But  a  single  malicious  and  dishonest  person 
may  originate  a  gossip  so  wide-spread  as  to  amount 
to  publicity.  Thistles  have  winged  seeds.  A  person 
of  that  character  should  be  exposed.  Poison  ought 
always  to  be  labelled.  They  told  a  little  story  in  the 
United  States  during  the  last  war  which  is  a  propos. 


52  BY  THE    TIBER. 

I  suppose  I  may  tell  it  now  without  offending  any 
one.  Some  of  the  Northerners  were  dissatisfied  that 
their  government  had  allowed  so  many  Southerners 
to  go  free  .after  having  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  insisted  that  the  Southerners  acted  upon  the  rule 
that  '  All  is  fair  in  love  and  war.'  One  day  a  rattle- 
snake was  found  in  the  Northern  camp.  '  Swear  it, 
and  let  it  go ! '  cried  one  of  the  soldiers.  There  are 
individuals  who  privately  do  public  mischief  behind 
the  screen  of  the  delicacies  and  scruples  of  honest 
people." 

"  A  propos  of  donkeys,"  resumed  the  delicate  voice, 
finding  an  opening ;  and  went  on  to  relate  the  sorrows 
and  sufferings  of  the  donkey  on  whose  back  she  had 
that  very  morning  made  the  ascent  of  Monte  Cavo, 
and  the  fiendish  cruelty  of  the  driver,  whom  she  was 
resolved  to  call  before  the  proper  authorities  when 
she  should  have  discovered  where  the  proper  authori- 
ties might  be  found.  It  is  a  common  illusion  with 
strict  and  law-abiding  new-comers  in  Italy,  that  they 
are  going  to  correct  a  great  many  inconveniences 
which  are  different  from  the  inconveniences  they 
made  up  their  minds  to  bear  at  home.  This  was  Mrs. 
Ellis,  a  very  nice  lady  from  Boston,  in  the  United 
States,  where  she  had  lived  a  life  of  the  most  exquisite 
gentility  for  fifty  years,  and  this  was  her  first  visit  to 
Europe. 

Seeing  the  company  attentive,  she  set  forth  the  case 
eloquently,  even  trying  to  include  the  Signora  Passa- 
rina  by  occasional  explanations  in  Italian,  of  which 
language  she  was  not  a  perfect  mistress.  "  The  poor 
animal  became  so  impatient  that  he  not  only  refused 
to  go  forward,  he  turned  quite  round,  and  faced  the 
other  way,"  she  said ;  "  and  that  horrible  man  gave  him 
the  most  dreadful  blows,  —  tanti  bastimenti,"  she  ex- 
plained to  the  Passarina,  and  was  shocked  that  the 
company  could  be  so  cruel  as  to  smile. 


A   FAMILY  MEETING.  53 

Tommy  Clouden  smiled  vacantly,  then  went  for  a 
dictionary.  Ten  minutes  after  he  was  heard  explod- 
ing with  laughter,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody. 

The  family  had  a  pleasant  way  of  taking  their 
after-dinner  coffee  in  the  drawing-room,  where  those 
who  did  not  go  out  usually  spent  the  evening  together. 
A  piano-forte,  a  card-table,  and  a  chess-table  afforded 
amusement  to  those  who  believed  that  there  is  nothing 
more  to  say  in  the  world;  while  those  who  looked 
upon  silence  as  a  demon,  or  a  very  stupid  fellow,  or 
who  secretly  knew  that  it  is  a  sublime  presence  which 
they  had  not  the  moral  composure  to  face,  kept  up  a 
babel  of  tongues  to  drive  it  away. 

Mr.  Willis  came  to  Valeria  with  Jean  Ingelow's 
last  novel  in  his  hand.  "  Do  you  like  the  bobolink 
after  it  has  become  a  rice-bird  ?  "  he  asked. 

Valeria  gave  the  book  back  to  him.  "  I  am  not 
yet  prepared  to  read  it,"  she  said.  "  I  resent  too 
much  the  ceasing  of  the  song." 

"  You  prefer  poetry,  then  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  prefer  everything,"  she  replied.     He  smiled. 

"  There  are  many  and  various  beauties  in  the  world," 
remarked  Miss  Vardon,  who  was  trailing  her  silken 
flounces  up  and  down  the  room,  and  glancing  at  her- 
^self  in  the  mirrors  while  waiting  for  a  friend's  car- 
riage to  come  and  take  her  to  a  reception. 

"  I  see  only  too  many,"  Mr.  Willis  replied  mourn' 
fully.  "  Sometimes,  I  confess,  I  cannot  help  wishing 
that  '  t'  other  dear  creature  '  were  away." 

"  It  is  perfectly  useless  to  say  anything  serious  to 
you,"  the  lady  remarked  scornfully.  "  Is  that  my 
carriage,  James  ? "  And  exit,  with  a  very  grand  air. 

Enter  Lilian  Marshall,  the  white  folds  of  an  opera- 
cloak  dropping  from  her  shoulders,  a  white  rose  shin- 
ing like  a  star  in  her  dark  hair,  a  feathery  white  fan 
in  her  hand,  and  her  face  brilliant  with  color.  She 
smiled  brightly,  too  happy  and  triumphant  not  to  be 


54  BY  THE    TIBER. 

amiable,  said  a  sweet  good-night  to  all,  and  went  off 
to  the  theatre,  followed  by  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Clouden, 
and  by  Mr.  Clive  Willis. 

Professor  Wagner,  with  a  look  which  said  that 
then  was  the  moment,  if  Mephistopheles  wished  to 
make  a  contract  with  him,  accepted  absently  Miss 
Chaplin's  compassionate  invitation  to  a  game  of  chess 
in  the  boudoir.  Mrs.  Gordon  retired  to  her  apart- 
ment in  the  West  End  to  receive  some  mysterious 
important  visitor.  Miss  Fanny  Gordon,  who  had 
been  hovering  about  the  piano-forte,  asked  Mrs.  Grey 
if  she  was  fond  of  music.  Mrs.  Carini  smiled  toward 
Valeria,  and  made  a  motion  to  approach  her.  Valeria 
fled  from  the  room. 

Pausing  in  the  anteroom  to  give  a  servant  some 
orders,  she  saw  Mrs.  Gordon  come  out,  escorting  with 
great  politeness  a  departing  visitor.  This  was  a  tall, 
slight  lady,  most  singularly,  but  gracefully,  swathed 
in  black  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  wonderful  how 
anything  but  a  statue  could  stand  in  such  drapery, 
that  did  not  fall  in  folds,  but  swept  and  clung  about 
her  form  from  the  veiled  head  to  the  feet.  It  was  a 
pallid  face,  with  dark  hair  dropping  low  on  the  fore- 
head, and  dark  eyes  that  seemed  to  plunge  into  the 
object  they  glanced  at.  The  shape  of  the  face  was  a 
sullen  oval.  The  smile  was  brilliant,  and  full  of  life. 

A  footman  rose  as  this  lady  appeared,  and  opened 
the  door,  accompanying  her  out. 

"  It  is  the  Countess  Belvedere,"  Mrs.  Gordon  said 
beamingly  to  Valeria,  smiling  at  the  door  through 
which  her  visitor  had  passed.  "  She  is  the  daughter 
of  Prince  Mitella.  Is  n't  she  beautiful  ? " 

Valeria  did  not  reply  except  by  a  bow.  She  felt 
silent,  as  if  something  important  had  happened  to  her. 
Her  heart  trembled  for  a  moment  under  the  passing 
glance  of  that  woman,  like  a  quiet  pool  into  which  a 
wild  bird  has  dashed  an  instant  on  the  wing. 


AMONG   THE  NERI.  55 

CHAPTER  IX. 

AMONG   THE   NERI. 

A  FEW  days  after  her  arrival  in  Rome  Valeria 
had  her  tirst  audience  of  the  Pope. 

She  had  looked  forward  to  this  event  with  a  pro- 
found interest.  From  childhood  the  name  of  Pius 
IX.  had  been  familiar  to  her,  at  first  as  a  strange 
name  of  strange  dread,  later  as  a  name  suggesting 
as  strange  a  reverence. 

The  unquestioned  ruler  of  the  largest  body  of  sub- 
jects in  the  world,  the  discrowned  heir  of  the  longest 
line  of  kings  that  the  world  has  known,  and  singular, 
in  his  own  office,  for  length  of  days,  and  for  the 
events  which  had  marked  his  reign,  —  it  did  not  need 
the  Catholic  faith  to  make  him  an  object  of  vivid 
interest.  But  she  had  that  faith,  and  held  it  with 
enthusiasm. 

Her  enthusiasm  was  not,  however,  that  pernicious 

partisanship  which  believes  that  the  Church  can  ever 

need  the  prop  of  a  lie ;  and  she  had  none  of  that 

^vicious  prudence  which  would  conceal  the  crime  of  a 

Catholic  lest  Catholicism  might  suffer  thereby. 

The  Spouse  of  the  King  of  the  Cassars  of  the  earth 
must  not  be  suspected. 

Animated,  then,  by  a  faith  which  was  above  the 
reach  of  circumstances,  and  a  tender  reverence  for 
that  priesthood  among  whom  she  had  found  her 
wisest  counsellors  and  kindest  friends,  she  prepared 
to  meet  the  teacher  of  them  all. 

The  carriage  came  to  the  door  for  her  and  Mrs. 
Grey  toward  noon,  and  they  were  driven  through 
bright,  crowded  piazze  and  dark  and  narrow  streets, 
over  the  Ponte  Sant'  Angelo,  past  the  two  "musi- 


56  BY  THE    TIBER. 

cal  water-trees  "  of  St.  Peter's,  under  the  great  arch 
by  the  bell-tower,  through  the  echoing  street  that 
circles  those  gigantic  yellow  walls,  and  into  the  court 
of  St.  Damasus.  The  thought  that  this  was  the 
famous  Vatican  Palace,  which  had  for  so  many  years 
stood  on  a  cloud  among  her  castles  in  Spain,  the  real 
rattling  stones  of  its  court  under  her  carriage  wheels, 
the  real  yellow  stones  of  its  walls  all  about  her,  was 
scarcely  dwelt  upon  ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  think 
with  any  interest  that  those  long  rows  of  casements 
enclosed  the  loggie,  of  Eaphael,  and  that  all  the  gods 
and  goddesses  of  Olympus  and  the  Nile  and  the 
Indus  stood  within  these  walls,  mute  and  cold,  dis- 
crowned of  all  save  beauty,  in  the  presence  of  the 
God  of  gods.  To  Valeria  the  palace  had  but  one 
occupant,  Pius  IX. 

"My  dear,"  Mrs.  Grey  said,  "you  must  take  off 
your  gloves." 

Mrs.  Grey  acted  as  ballast  whenever  her  compan- 
ion got  off  the  solid  ground  of  the  commonplace. 
The  shock  was  not  so  great  as  it  might  have  been, 
however ;  for  it  brought  to  mind  another  command : 
Take  the  shoes  from  off  thy  feet,  for  the  place  whereon 
thou  standest  is  holy  ground. 

Valeria  removed  her  gloves,  pushed  her  rustling 
train  behind  her,  rearranged  Mrs.  Grey's  veil  drapery, 
and  looked  at  the  picturesque  Swiss  guard,  as  she 
was  bid. 

Monsignor  Fenelon,  who  was  to  present  them,  made 
his  appearance,  and  conducted  them  into  one  of  the 
Eaphael  loggie,  where  twenty  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  waiting.  They  took  their  places  near  the  door. 

"  He  will  enter  by  this  door,"  Monsignor  explained ; 
"  then  you  must  kneel.  He  will  pass  down  the  line, 
giving  each  one  his  hand  to  kiss  ;  and  he  may  make 
a  little  address  when  that  is  over." 

"  I  want  to  kiss  his  foot,"  Mrs.  Grey  whispered. 


AMONG    THE  NERL  57 

Monsignor  nodded,  and  glanced  inquiringly  at 
Valeria. 

"  No,"  she  replied  to  the  glance,  "  I  want  to  see  hia 
face." 

At  the  opposite  side  of  the  long,  narrow  room,  at 
the  end  of  the  line,  stood  a  very  tall  gray-haired 
prelate  in  a  purple  silk  robe  talking  with  some  ladies, 
who  seemed  to  be  under  his  care.  He  walked  about 
very  much  at  his  ease,  speaking  with  different  persons. 
Presently  he  crossed  the  room,  and  shook  hands 
with  Monsignor  Fenelou,  addressing  him  in  English. 

"  This  lady  has  a  letter  of  introduction  for  you," 
Monsignor  Fenelon  said,  and  presented  Valeria  to 
Monsignor  Nestore. 

Valeria  rose  from  her  chair,  but  he  motioned  her 
to  sit  again.  "  Come  and  bring  me  your  letter  at  a 
quarter  past  two  this  afternoon,"  he  said  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  used  to  command.  "  I  shall  then  have 
time  to  see  you  a  few  minutes  before  others  corne. 
I  dine  at  two,  and  receive  at  half  past  two." 

The  curtain  was  withdrawn  from  the  door,  and 
Monsignor  Nestore  returned  to  his  place.  The  Swiss 
guards  entered,  and  took  their  places  at  the  lower 
-end  of  the  room,  and  a  moment  later  the  doorway 
was  filled  with  a  crowd  of  prelates  picturesque  in 
scarlet,  purple,  and  black.  The  company  knelt. 
Valeria,  with  her  hands  tightly  and  unconsciously 
clasped,  glanced  over  those  figures  to  discover  the 
supreme  one.  They  entered,  and,  separating,  dis- 
closed a  form  all  in  white,  the  robe,  the  face,  the 
hair.  But  the  beaming  eyes  were  brown,  and  the 
smiling  lips  were  human  with  sweet  and  kindly  life. 
"A  delicious  old  man,"  one  of  the  least  reverent  of 
the  company  pronounced  him  afterward. 

The  Pope  gave  his  hand  to  Monsignor  Fenelon  to 
kiss,  then  laid  it  on  his  shoulder  while  listening  to 
the  few  words  that  were  spoken  to  him  in  a  low 


58  BY  THE    TIBER. 

voice.  Valeria  could  not  unclasp  her  bands,  could 
not  remove  her  eyes  from  his  face,  even  after  Mrs. 
Grey  had  kissed  his  foot,  and  her  own  turn  had 
come. 

The  Pope  looked  at  her,  smiled,  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  head,  murmured  a  few  words,  and  passed  on.  "  It 
is  the  hand  that  holds  the  keys ! "  she  thought,  as  she 
felt  its  light  pressure  on  her  hair. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  minutes,  and  they  drove 
home  to  find  the  family  at  breakfast. 

All  the  neri  asked  for  the  Holy  Father,  and  had 
heard  that  he  was  in  excellent  health.  All  tbe 
lianchi  asked  for  the  Pope,  and  had  heard  that  he 
was  failing  rapidly.  All  the  neri  prayed  that  he 
might  be  spared,  since  after  him  would  come  the 
deluge.  All  the  lianclii  responded  with  an  emphatic 
"Poh!" 

After  breakfast  Valeria  drove  to  Monsignor  Nes- 
tore's.  She  found  him  dining  with  his  chaplain,  the 
table  drawn  up  before  the  sofa  on  which  Monsignor 
sat.  He  motioned  her  to  a  seat  beside  him  while  he 
read  her  letter.  Then,  after  a  few  kind  inquiries  and 
offers  of  service,  he  led  her  to  a  large,  bright  drawing- 
room,  where  a  dozen  or  more  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  waiting. 

Monsignor  Nestore  received  informally  two  or  three 
hours  of  every  afternoon,  and  if  any  inferior  persons 
came,  they  never  displayed  their  inferiority  while  in 
his  house.  Uncompromisingly  dignified,  cultivated, 
yet  brusque,  this  prelate  liked  no  trifling  in  his  pres- 
ence, and  allowed  none  in  his  house.  The  person  who 
could  not  say  something  sensible  might  remain  silent, 
and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  administer  a  sharp  rebuke 
if  he  thought  that  it  was  deserved.  Full  of  courage 
and  common-sense,  travelled,  familiar  with  courts, 
intimate  with  the  leading  spirits  of  that  party  which 
in  the  West  is  called  ultramontane,  of  which  he  was 


AMONG   THE  NERL  59 

a  conspicuous  member,  it  was  a  privilege  to  know 
him,  even  if  one  did  not  always  agree  with  him. 

There  was  always  some  one  worth  seeing  at  these 
receptions.  Here  was  Louis  Veuillot,  then  on  a  visit 
to  Eome ;  and  the  lovely  Countess  Steinberg,  whose 
windows  the  mob  had  broken  two  years  before,  when 
she  illuminated  for  the  Pope's  coronation  festa  ;  and 
a  distinguished  missionary  Monsignore  just  returned 
from  China  ;  and  an  English  lady  just  from  Lourdes, 
full  of  a  miraculous  cure  which  she  had  witnessed 
there ;  and  the  fine,  old-school  Vicomtesse  de  Valois, 
who,  in  spite  of  ill-health,  had  made  a  pilgrimage  from 
Belgium  to  throw  herself  au  pieds  du  Saint  P&re. 
And  here  was  our  Valeria,  with  the  wild  pine-scents 
of  her  native  State  yet  lingering  in  her  nostrils,  and 
her  eyes  full  of  pleased  wonder  over  this  wonderful 
Roman  life. 

Monsignor  presented  her  rather  sweepingly  to  the 
company,  giving  them  that  slight  biographical  sketch 
of  her  which  he  sometimes  did  give  of  persons  so 
presented,  and  at  which  his  friends  were  wont  to 
smile.  They  often  smiled  at  his  little  characteristic 
peculiarities.  Valeria  somewhat  blushingly  made 
her  courtesy,  then  settled  contentedly  into  the  sofa 
before  the  tire,  accepted  the  screen  given  her  by  her 
host,  and  prepared  to  listen.  It  is  so  delightful  to 
hear  people  talk  when  they  have  something  worth 
saying. 

It  was  a  pleasant  room.  How  many,  in  all  parts 
of  the  world,  will  remember  it,  now  that  its  life  has 
dropped  to  ashes  !  The  bright  sun  pouring  in  at  the 
southern  windows  ;  the  bright  wood-fire  on  the  hearth ; 
the  portrait  of  Francis  Joseph  of  Austria,  given  to 
Mousignor  by  the  Emperor  himself ;  the  large  gilded 
arm-chairs  ranged  about  the  walls  ;  the  case  of  tropical 
birds  opposite  the  southern  windows ;  the  table  piled 
with  choice  books  near  the  western  windows;  the 


60  BY  THE    TIBER. 

little  "boudoir  sofa  before  the  fire,  with  always  one 
or  two  ladies  nestled  into  its  cushions  ;  Don  Giovanni, 
the  little  chaplain,  coming  and  going,  now  with  a 
letter,  now  with  a  private  message  from  some  one 
who  must  see  Monsignore  immediately  and  alone; 
and,  above  all,  the  tall  figure  of  Monsignor  Nestore 
himself,  leaning  on  the  mantelpiece,  or  going  about 
among  his  guests,  speaking  fluently  in  five  languages, 
seeing  that  no  one  was  neglected,  listening  to  what 
some  isolated  knot  of  gentlemen  were  talking  about, 
having  a  word  for  all,  —  a  little  dogmatical  some- 
times, but  never  mean,  never  unkind,  never  trivial. 

Peace  to  his  gray  hairs,  that  were  laid  in  the  grave 
just  as  the  scarlet  berretta  of  a  cardinal  was  settling 
upon  them  !  He  was  well  hated ;  not  only  with  the 
manly  bitterness  of  political  and  religious  opposition, 
but  with  the  hate  of  Kome. 

For  Rome  means  hate.  It  is  love  spelt  backward  ; 
and  the  witches  know  that  there  is  no  curse  so  bitter 
as  a  backward-spoken  blessing,  no  blasphemy  so  bold 
as  a  backward-muttered  prayer.  All  history  laughs 
at  the  sentimental  legend  of  "  Eoma,  Amor." 

Before  Valeria  left  his  house  that  day  Monsignor 
Nestore  invited  her  to  assist  at  his  Mass  the  next 
morning  in  the  crypt  of  St.  Peter's. 

It  was  a  golden  opportunity,  for  in  the  long  list  of 
clergymen  from  all  parts  of  the  world  who  seek  the 
privilege  of  saying  a  Mass  at  the  tomb  of  St.  Peter, 
each  one  has  to  await  his  turn,  and  only  six  persons 
are  admitted  at  a  time  to  the  crypt. 

Valeria  was  up,  therefore,  by  daylight,  and  driving 
through  the  golden  freshness  of  the  December  sunrise, 
which  found  the  streets  nearly  empty.  A  warmer  air 
met  her  as  she  raised  the  heavy  curtain  of  the  church, 
the  perpetual  spring  of  St.  Peter's. 

The  nave  was  dim,  the  side  aisles  dark ;  but  the 
dome  had  caught  the  rising  sunlight,  and  all  beneath 


AMONG    THE  NERL  61 

it  was  glorious.  Seated  on  the  steps  of  the  great 
altar  were  Madame  de  Valois  and  her  companion. 
Valeria  joined  them,  and  waited,  watching  the  sun- 
light creeping  down  to  the  stone  Apostles  visible 
through  the  windows  of  the  facade. 

Presently  a  group  of  Liliputian  figures  issued  from 
the  sacristy,  arid  crossed  the  church  toward  the  pilas- 
ter of  St.  Veronica,  growing  more  human  in  size  as 
they  came  nearer,  and  standing  revealed  Monsignor 
Nestore  and  his  attendants.  The  ladies  followed 
him,  a  little  door  inside  the  railing  under  the  balcony 
was  opened,  and  they  all  went  down  the  stairway 
inside  the  foundations  of  the  pilaster. 

To  one  accustomed  to  the  thin  walls  of  brick  or 
wood  of  the  New  World,  there  is  a  peculiar  and 
romantic  charm  in  these  hidden  stairways,  in  these 
immense  piles  of  apparently  solid  masonry  threaded 
with  narrow,  vaulted  passages,  and  pierced  with  hid- 
den loopholes  through  which,  far  up  behind  a  statue, 
or  a  vase,  or  an  acanthus  leaf  of  some  beautiful  capi- 
tal, a  human  head  may  be  thrust  out,  as  small  and  as 
unnoted  as  a  fly  on  the  ceiling. 

The  little  chapel  of  the  crypt  was  glowing  with 
lamps  and  with  candles  when  they  stepped  into  it  out 
of  the  shadows.  It  is  the  jewel-case  of  St.  Peter's; 
for,  set  in  the  midst  of  its  mosaics  and  its  gold,  is 
the  "  lordly  male  sapphire "  of  the  keystone  of  the 
arch  of  the  Christian  faith,  the  venerated  remains  of 
St.  Peter. 

Monsignor  put  on  his  vestments  before  the  altar, 
and  said  Mass.  Outside,  in  the  confession,  Canova's 
kneeling  Pope  seemed  to  pray  with  them,  looking  in 
through  the  iron  screen. 

When  it  was  over  Valeria  went*  to  take  her  coffee 
with  Madame  de  Valois,  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with 
her,  then  returned  to  Casa  Passarina  to  find  two  or 
three  ladies  waiting  to  see  her. 


62  BY  THE   TIBER. 

They  had  come  on  "business  concerning  which  they 
were  very  urgent  and  enthusiastic.  The  government, 
under  pretence  of  making  excavations,  was  going  to 
remove  the  Stations  of  the  Cross  from  the  Colosseum, 
where  that  devotion  had  been  made  every  Friday  in 
the  time  of  the  Popes,  —  the  Colosseum  having  been 
consecrated  to  the  martyrs  ;  and  these  ladies  proposed 
to  go  the  next  day,  with  as  large  a  company  as  they 
could  collect,  and  make  the  devotion  for  the  last 
time. 

It  was,  in  fact,  more  a  protest  against  the  action  of 
the  government  than  a  devotion,  though  some  of  the 
ladies  engaged  in  the  enterprise  were  sincerely  relig- 
ious, and  felt  both  grieved  and  scandalized  at  what 
they  considered  the  desecration  of  a  holy  shrine. 
The  really  prudent  motive  of  the  government  was 
not  known  till  afterward,  when  it  was  said  that 
either  the  Colosseum  must  have  been  put  in  a  state 
which  would  make  it  impossible  to  occupy  it  for  any 
meeting  whatever,  or  the  use  of  it  must  have  been 
conceded  for  a  great  political  demonstration,  which 
would  have  been  red  republican  in  nature,  if  not  in 
name. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  show  your  colors,"  one  of  the 
ladies  urged,  seeing  Valeria  hesitate.  "  We  must  let 
them  see  what  we  think  of  this.  No  Catholic  has  a 
right  to  hide  his  opinions  now." 

"  I  have  already  shown  my  colors  in  a  way  that 
no  one  could  mistake,"  Valeria  replied ;  "  and  I  am 
willing  to  do  anything  that  I  ought.  But  don't  you 
think  that  these  flashes  of  gunpowder  are  rather 
undignified?  Besides,  I  don't  like  to  pray  out  of 
spite." 

"Do  you  think  that  we  wish  to  pray  out  of  spite  ? " 
asked  the  Countess  Steinberg,  reproachfully. 

"Dear  madam,  it  is  the  last  thing  that  I  would 
think  of  you ! "  exclaimed  Valeria,  who  admired  the 


AMONG   THE  NERL  63 

lady  sincerely, — admired  not  only  her  pathetic,  grace- 
ful beauty,  but  her  fine,  enthusiastic  nature.  "  But 
neither  must  you  believe,"  she  added,  "  that  I  would 
hesitate  to  join  you  from  coldness  or  cowardice.  I 
cannot  decide  now,  but  will  send  you  word  in  the 
evening." 

They  went,  a  little  discontented,  and  she  set  her- 
self to  thinking  over  the  matter.  But  the  conclusion 
seemed  to  be  forever  flying  at  her  approach,  and  the 
arguments  accumulating  on  either  side, — on  the  four- 
and-twenty  sides,  or  the  eight-and-forty  sides,  on  the 
sides  that  never  ceased  to  present  themselves,  and 
complicate  themselves  in  an  inextricable  tangle. 

"  Order  ! "  she  cried  at  last,  bringing  down  an  im- 
aginary hammer.  "  Ideality  has  the  floor." 

There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  her  mind;  then 
the  discussion  proceeded  something  in  the  following 
manner. 

Faith  (in  whose  breast  Ideality  had  hidden  her 
face).  Shall  the  Lord  listen  in  vain  to-morrow  over 
the  spot  where  once  he  leaned  to  receive  in  his  arms 
the  ascending  souls  of  martyrs,  and  still  leaned,  patient 
and  loving,  when  only  a  feeble  prayer  came  up  ?  Shall 
all  be  mute  to-morrow  ? 

A  quiet  Voice  (supposed  to  be  Reason).  "Non  vox 
sed  votum,  non  clamor  sed  amor,  non  cordula  sed  cor 
psallit  in  aure  Dei."  Let  each  one  sacrifice  in  his 
own  soul  to-morrow. 

Another  Voice.  But  example  ?  Besides,  it  looks  as 
if  one  were  afraid. 

Fourth  Voice.  You  are  afraid.  You  fear  the  frown 
of  a  friend.  You  fear  ridicule.  You  are  afraid  that 
some  one  will  say  that  you  are  afraid. 

Courage.    Hear,  hear ! 

Prudence  (in  a  sarcastic  voice).  I  have  been  in- 
vited here  to-day  to  speak,  —  an  unusual  compliment 
from  this  parliament,  which  has  ordinarily  only  words 


64  BY  THE    TIBER. 

of  scorn  for  me.  I  will  not  deign  to  retaliate ;  though 
I  might  remind  the  honorable  members  of  certain 
occasions  on  which,  looking  on  from  my  place  of  ban- 
ishment, I  have  seen  this  assembly  present  the  pitiable 
Icarian  spectacle  of  — 

Chair.    Order! 

Prudence  (taking  out  a  note-book  and  reading).  In- 
fallible rules :  1st.  When  you  are  in  doubt  what  to 
do,  do  nothing ;  2d.  A  word  once  spoken,  or  an  act 
once  performed,  not  all  the  king's  horses  can  bring  it 
back  again ;  3d.  Take  ten  years  to  think  over  any 
proposition  coming  from  women.  (Hisses.') 

A  shrill  Voice.   The  chair,  being  a  woman,  ought  — 

Chair.    I  am  not  a  woman  ;  I  am  a  soul. 

Another  Voice.  If  Prudence  came  here  only  to  read 
a  set  of  musty  old  proverbs  — 

Third  Voice.  Prudence  never  does  say  anything 
original 

Common-Sense  (roughly).    Question ! 

Prudence  (who  has  been  whispering  with  Reason). 
In  the  first  place,  you  are  bound  to  obey  and  respect 
the  government  under  which  you  live,  when  it  does 
not  command  you  to  commit  a  wrong  or  omit  a  plain 
duty.  In  the  second  place,  as  subordinate  members 
of  a  party,  you  are  neither  called  upon  nor  permitted 
to  take  part  in  a  demonstration  where  your  superiors 
do  not  lead  you. 

Several  Voices.  Our  leaders  are  in  church  trium- 
phant !  (Interruptions,  hubbub,  riot,  chaos.} 

Valeria  put  on  her  bonnet,  as  one  puts  a  cloth  over 
a  bee-hive,  drove  to  Monsignor  Nestore,  and  told  him 
the  whole  story. 

"Don't  go,"  he  said.  "It's  a  piece  of  nonsense. 
Those  ladies  will  be  called  before  the  Questore." 

"  Two  heads  are  better  than  one,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  she  left  him ;  "  especially 
when  one  of  them  is  my  head" 


KATE   CROMO.  65 

The  next  afternoon,  in  common  with  half  Rome, 
Valeria  had  an  errand  which  took  her  to  the  Roman 
Forum,  and  she  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  half  a 
dozen  lady  ringleaders  marched  out  of  the  Colosseum 
under  the  escort  of  a  policeman,  and  conducted  to 
parts  unknown.  The  Countess  Steinberg  had  been 
arrested  for  organizing  a  political  demonstration. 
The  other  ladies  voluntarily  accompanied  her  to  the 
office  of  the  Questore,  where  she  was  informed  that, 
if  she  repeated  the  offence,  she  would  be  sent  over 
the  frontier,  and  forbidden  to  return  to  Italy. 

"  Banished  from  Eome !  "  It  had  quite  an  heroic 
sound. 

The  next  day  the  Countess  Steinberg's  tables  were 
laden  with  the  visiting-cards  of  the  neri,  foremost 
among  them,  the  enamelled  pasteboard  of  Monsignor 
Nestore. 

"  The  day  after  my  windows  were  broken,  two 
years  ago,  a  thousand  cards  were  left  on  me,"  she 
told  Valeria.  "To-day  there  must  be  fifteen  hun- 
dred." 

"  It  would  be  well  to  send  a  list  of  your  cards  to 
the  Questore,"  Valeria  suggested.  "Do  you  think 
that  your  visitors  would  object  ? " 


CHAPTER  X. 

KATE   CROMO. 

ONE  day,  when  Valeria  came  in  from  a  walk,  she 
was  told  that  Miss  Cromo  had  returned.  The 
people  in  the  house  said  a  good  deal  about  Miss 
Cromo,  her  goings  and  comings,  her  sayings  and 
doings.  She  seemed  to  be  a  person  of  consequence 
among  them. 

5 


66  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  What  sort  of  person  is  she  ? "  Valeria  had  asked 
of  Miss  Chaplin.  "  Shall  I  like  her  ? " 

"  She  is  very  clever,"  Miss  Chaplin  replied,  "  and 
very  amusing.  She  can  caricature  a  person  perfectly. 
She  could  make  you  laugh  at  your  best  friend." 

"  Oh,  no,  she  could  not ! "  Valeria  replied  decisively. 
"  I  would  not  allow  her  to  try.  But  you  have  not 
answered  me." 

Miss  Chaplin  became  circumspect.  "  If  she  should 
take  a  fancy  to  you,  she  would  be  very  useful ;  she 
has  been  in  Rome  so  long,  and  knows  so  many 
people." 

"  And  if  she  should  take  a  fancy  against  me,  what 
then  ? " 

"  I  think  that  she  will  like  you,"  was  the  reply, 
spoken  with  a  reserve  which  prevented  further  ques- 
tioning. 

"Do  tell  me  something  of  Miss  Cromo,"  Valeria 
said  afterward  to  Mr.  O'Hara,  the  Irish  boarder.  "  I 
hear  so  much  of  her,  yet  can  understand  nothing." 

He  laughed.  "  She  is  very  clever,"  he  said.  "  Very 
clever !  "  he  repeated,  nodding  his  head. 

Valeria  looked  attentively  at  the  speaker.  She 
liked  Mr.  O'Hara,  yet  was  constantly  being  vexed 
with  him.  "  I  hope  you  do  not  flatter  yourself  that 
you  are  charitable  now,"  she  said  with  great  frank- 
ness. "  Because  you  might  just  as  well  have  called 
her  a  rascal." 

He  became  serious.  "  I  have  no  wish  nor  intention 
to  say  anything  of  the  kind.  She  is  a  very  interest- 
ing lady." 

Valeria's  next  effort  was  with  Mr.  Clive  Willis. 
"  I  have  been  trying  to  form  some  idea  of  Miss 
Cromo ;  but  no  one  will  give  me  a  definite  answer. 
I  shall  not  ask  you." 

"  If  she  had  been  a  man,  she  would  have  been  a 
lawyer,"  he  said  concisely.  "  And  if  she  were  a  man 


KATE   CROMO.  67 

and  a  lawyer,  and  I  needed  some  one  to  prove  that  I 
never  existed,  and  that  all  who  imagined  to  have 
seen  me  were  suffering  from  an  optical  illusion,  and 
that  my  own  notion  that  I  existed  was  an  hallucina- 
tion, and,  since  a  person  who  never  existed  cannot 
have  an  hallucination,  that  I  never  even  fancied  that 
I  existed ;  and  then,  this  having  been  all  satis- 
factorily proved  to  the  world,  if  I  needed  that  my 
counsel  should  turn  about  the  next  day,  and  prove  to 
all  the  world  that  he  never  said  any  such  thing,  — 
I  would  instantly  retain  Mr.  Kate  Cromo  for  any  fee 
which  he  should  choose  to  name." 

Valeria  mused  a  little  while.  "  I  suppose  you 
would  n't  like  to  call  them  fibs,"  she  remarked. 

"  No,  we  do  not  call  them  fibs,"  Mr.  Willis  replied. 
"  They  are  grafted  truths.  Pardon  me,  I  don't  want 
to  be  funny,  but  suppose  that  we  should  call  them 
Cromatics  ? " 

"  Well,"  Valeria  said,  putting  an  end  to  the  sub- 
ject, "  with  all  your  chromatics  I  have  not  found  the 
key-note.  I  will  find  it  myself." 

"  The  key-note  is  a  capital  I,"  he  said. 
_It  was  not  pleasant.     Nothing  that  she  had  heard 
of  this  woman  was  pleasant.     The  result  of  it  all  was 
a  feeling  that  no  good  would  come  to  her  from  such 
an  acquaintance. 

Valeria  had  a  will  like  the  wind's  will,  which  goes 
inevitably  on  its  general  course,  yet  swerves  around 
impediments,  seeming  momentarily  to  turn  back  at 
times,  but  still  going  ever  forward  where  its  face  was 
first  set.  She  liked  to  softly  breathe  her  wishes,  and 
preferred  to  give  up  unimportant  ones  rather  than 
contend  ;  but  she  had  at  need  the  power  of  the  storm. 
In  the  affairs  of  others  she  had  no  will,  and  she  was 
incurious  to  a  fault.  All  her  life  had  been  passed  in 
retirement,  with  little  society  beside  books  and  na- 
ture ;  and,  standing,  as  in  a  magic  circle,  surrounded 


68  BY  THE    TIBER. 

by  these  companions,  she  was  only  too  prone  to  look 
upon  the  persons  and  personal  interests  about  her  as 
mere  pictures,  or,  at  most,  as  scenes  in  which  she  was 
never  to  take  a  part,  and  actors  with  whom  she  had 
little  or  nothing  to  do.  A  dreamy  veil  of  unreality 
covered  it  all. 

This  sort  of  life  had  had  the  natural  result  of  render- 
ing her  less  prompt  in  social  fencing,  and,  together 
with  an  exceeding  sensitiveness,  and  a  habit  of  seldom 
speaking  except  from  the  surface,  had  given  many 
persons  the  impression  that  she  was  easily  influenced, 
and  not  hard  to  coerce.  Her  courage  and  decision 
were  all  for  great  things ;  in  trifles  she  was  timid. 
Yet  many  littles  make  a  mickle ;  and  it  had  some- 
times happened  that  her  patience  had  broken  under 
an  accumulation  of  petty  aggressions  silently  borne, 
and  that  the  aggressor  had  been  astonished  by  a  sud- 
den indignant  self-assertion,  which  had  left  him  puz- 
zled ever  after  to  know  how  to  understand  her,  but 
very  little  disposed  to  provoke  a  temper  which  had 
for  a  moment  seemed  to  him  the  most  proud  and 
arrogant  that  he  had  ever  known.  To  sincere  affec- 
tion her  heart  was  as  the  heart  of  a  child,  pleased, 
trusting,  and  uncritical;  to  sympathy  she  gave  love; 
for  sympathy  enters  where  affection  waits  at  the  door. 
But,  then,  sympathy  is  rare. 

Conscious  of  her  own  disposition,  and  that  self- 
defence  was  to  her  difficult  and  troublesome,  Valeria 
shrank  from  associating  with  a  person  who  seemed, 
from  all  that  she  had  heard  of  her,  to  be  of  a  positive 
and  aggressive  character.  She  took  the  opportunity 
to  speak  to  Miss  Chaplin  on  the  subject  on  the  day 
of  Cromo's  return,  when  they  went  out  for  a  walk 
together. 

A  certain  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between  the 
two.  They  saw  each  other  frequently,  and  always 
with  pleasure.  Valeria  liked  those  long  walks  when 


KATE   CROMO.  69 

they  sauntered  slowly  through  the  purely  Roman 
streets  of  the  city,  stopping  now  and  then  to  look  at 
some  beautifully  carved  portone,  or  a  balcony  of 
flowers  high  up  on  a  house- front,  or  the  overhanging 
green  of  a  roof-garden  running  along  the  sky,  —  at 
any  of  those  beauties  which  catch  the  eyes  at  every 
turn.  Sometimes  the  open  door  of  a  quiet  church 
would  invite  them,  and  Miss  Chaplin  would  say, 
"  Let  us  go  in  and  speak  to  the  Lord  a  moment ;  "  and, 
kneeling  there  before  the  altar,  aware  of  the  bowed 
head  and  praying  heart  beside  her,  Valeria  had  a 
foretaste  of  the  sweetness  of  heavenly  intercourse. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  been 
thinking  that  I  would  rather  not  become  acquainted 
\vith  Miss  Cromo.  There  is  no  need  that  I  should ; 
for  I  am  going  to  change  entirely  my  mode  of  life. 
I  did  not  come  here  for  society,  you  know ;  I  have  no 
leisure  for  it,  and  I  have  already  spent  too  much 
time  in  visiting.  I  must  resume  immediately  my 
American  habits  ;  rise  early,  go  out  to  Mass,  then 
write  all  the  forenoon.  When  the  others  breakfast,  I 
shall  dine.  I  may  walk  out,  or  talk  an  hour  or  two 
before  dinner-time ;  but  I  shall  not  go  to  the  table. 
Tha  Passarina  will  send  me  something  to  my  room 
for  supper.  I  am  sorry  to  miss  the  bright  dinner- 
table  chat,  and  the  occasional  evening  in  the  drawing- 
room.  But  I  must ;  for  they  set  my  eyes  too  wide 
open,  and  I  must  sleep  early.  As  Miss  Cromo  does 
not,  you  say,  come  to  breakfast,  and  joins  the  family 
only  at  dinner,  we  need  never  meet,  or  but  very 
rarely." 

"  It  is  as  well  that  you  should  not  know  her,"  Miss 
Chaplin  said.  "  But  she  will  wish  to  see  you." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  she  should." 

"  She  likes  to  know  every  one.  Then  you  are  in 
the  house,  and  she  will  hear  you  spoken  of." 

"  Please  do  not  mention  me  to  her.     If  she  should 


70  BY  THE    TIBER. 

ask  for  me,  tell  her  that  I  am  very  busy,  and  avoid 
introductions." 

The  next  day  Miss  Chaplin  told  Valeria  that  Miss 
Cromo  had  asked  for  her,  and  expected  a  visit. 

"  Say  nothing  of  me,"  she  replied. 

A  few  days  later  the  subject  was  mentioned  again. 
"She  has  spoken  of  you  repeatedly,  and  is  greatly 
surprised  that  you  do  not  go  to  see  her." 

"  Say  nothing  of  me,"  Valeria  repeated.  "  And,  by 
and  by,  she  will  understand." 

Again,  after  a  day  or  two,  Miss  Chaplin  returned 
to  the  subject.  "  Really,  you  must  excuse  me  for 
boring  you,  but  if  you  do  not  go,  she  will  be  angry 
with  both  of  us.  I  believe  that  she  suspects  me  of 
trying  to  keep  you  away.  She  has  told  me  to  come 
and  bring  you  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Valeria,  opening  her  eyes  widely. 
"  I  am  going  for  a  drive  this  afternoon.  I  hope  that 
you  do  not  make  any  promises  for  me." 

Another  day  was  set  by  Miss  Cromo,  and  yet 
another ;  and  the  third  time,  seeing  that  Miss  Chap- 
lin was  nervous  and  annoyed  about  the  matter, 
Valeria  went. 

"  But  I  was  never  —  why,  it  is  being  bullied  !  — 
in  my  life  before,"  she  said.  "  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  this  woman  has  very  little  of  either  pride  or 
delicacy." 

Miss  Chaplin  was  herself  vexed  enough  to  speak 
plainly.  "  Miss  Cromo  never  allows  pride,  or  deli- 
cacy, or  the  rights  of  others  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  wishes,"  she  said. 

Entering  a  large  and  rather  excessively  bric-a- 
brac  d  chamber,  they  were  met  by  a  vivacious  lady, 
who  kissed  '  dear  Frances '  fondly  on  both  cheeks,  and 
welcomed  Valeria  as  cordially  as  though  she  had  not 
dragged  her  there.  Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  visit 
having  been  delayed.  She  chatted  gayly  and  amus- 


KATE  CROMO.  71 

ingly,  displayed  her  treasures,  delivered,  a  propos, 
learned  little  lectures  without  appearing  to  suspect 
that  her  hearers  might  possibly  themselves  know 
something  of  the  subjects  of  which  she  treated ;  then, 
through  a  series  of  gossipy  transitions,  slid  into  the 
subject  of  genealogy,  and  gave  a  shining  account  of 
her  own,  in  which  a  celebrated  historical  personage 
would  have  been  surprised  to  find  himself  included. 

Miss  Chaplin,  having  an  engagement,  was  obliged 
to  go  away  after  a  few  minutes ;  but  Miss  Cromo 
urged  Valeria  so  to  stay  a  little  longer,  that,  charmed 
and  fascinated,  she  accepted  the  invitation. 

How  bright  she  was !  How  gay  and  comical ! 
How  comfortable  she  made  her  visitor,  and  how 
delightfully  home-like  it  was  when,  unexpectedly,  tea 
was  brought  in  !  How  pretty  she  was,  too  !  —  with  a 
face  that  looked  fresh  in  that  soft  light,  and  her 
uncovered  brown  hair,  in  which  one  did  not  detect  a 
thread  of  white  ;  with  the  little  birdlike  ways,  at 
once  so  dainty  and  so  decided,  and  the  graceful  dress, 
which,  however,  was  not  well  suited  to  her  short 
figure.  Miss  Cromo  always  dressed  tall.  Her  self- 
esteem  would  not  allow  her  to  admit  that  she  could 
nofwear  or  do  anything  which  the  tallest  woman  in 
the  world  could  wear  or  do. 

She  flattered  coarsely,  and  asked  indelicate  ques- 
tions ;  but  she  did  both  with  a  lover-like  air  which 
left  one  astonished  and  amused,  rather  than  offended. 

"  I  am  almost  sixty  years  old  ;  how  old  are  you  ? " 
she  asked  with  a  bright,  bold  smile,  and  a  glance  as 
bright.  She  never  failed  to  tell  her  age,  and,  while 
taking  remarkable  care  of  her  person,  proclaimed  in 
season  and  out  that  she  was  an  old  woman. 

"  I  am  thirty-five,"  replied  Valeria,  and  thought 
that  she  would  like  to  present  the  lady  with  a  behav- 
ior-book with  certain  passages  strongly  marked. 

"  You  are  a  beauty ! "  Miss  Cromo  declared  with 


72  BY  THE    TIBER. 

the  greatest  coolness.  "I  am  going  to  fall  in  love 
with  you  directly,  and  I  want  you  to  come  to  see  me 
every  day.  Eeceive  your  friends  here  in  my  sala 
whenever  you  like.  And  bring  rne  in  the  evening 
what  you  have  written  during  the  day,  and  read  it  to 
me." 

"  I  never  show  my  manuscript,  nor  tell  what  it  is," 
Valeria  replied.  "  I  don't  like  to.  I  never  did  in 
my  own  family,  when  father  and  mother  were  alive. 
I  could  not,  though  I  wrote  only  insignificant  little 
stories.  They  had  to  wait  for  the  print.  I  have 
not  the  habit  of  telling  any  one  what  I  am  doing. 
It  is,  perhaps,  odd ;  but  I  shrink  from  it.  And 
now  I  am  more  —  is  it  odd  ?  —  than  ever ;  for  I  am 
dreaming  of  writing  a  book.  See  I  I  tell  you  so 
much." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  book  ? "  Miss  Cromo 
asked  promptly. 

"  I  have  not  yet  found  one.  It  is  so  hard  to  suit  a 
story  with  a  name.  I  would  n't  like  to  Nicodemus 
the  poor  thing  into  nothing.  Besides  —  I —  I  don't 
know  whether  it  will  be  a  boy  or  a  girl." 

"  You  darling  creature  !  Tell  me  what  the  story  is, 
and  we  will  find  a  name  together." 

Valeria  laughed.  "  You  are  a  terrible  woman !  I 
am  not  going  to  tell  you  a  word  more  about  it !  " 

"  Miss  Chaplin  says  that  you  are  going  to  write 
for  the  Fair  Play"  the  lady  went  on,  in  no  wise 
disconcerted  by  this  failure,  intending,  probably,  to 
return  to  the  charge  another  time.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  write  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  nothing  !  "  Valeria  was  quite  will- 
ing to  tell  all  about  this.  "  They  want  only  an  occa- 
sional short  article  on  some  given  subject." 

"  What  subject  have  they  given  you  now  ? " 

"  They  wish  me  to  answer  this  question :  '  What  is 
the  root  of  the  Catholic  difficulty  in  Rome  ? ' " 


KATE   CROMO.  73 

"  When  are  you  going  to  write  it  ? "  pursued  the 
inquisitor  in  a  very  business-like  manner. 

"  Not  for  a  week  or  ten  days.  I  shall  have  to  ask 
information.  That  sort  of  thing  is,  indeed,  outside 
my  province." 

"  I  have  promised  to  write  an  article  now  and  then 
for  the  Aurora?  Miss  Cromo  said.  "  We  must  tell 
each  other  what  our  subjects  are,  so  as  not  to  write 
about  the  same  thing.  They  wanted  me  to  write  for 
Fair  Play;  but  I  refused." 

She  did  not,  however,  tell  what  her  subject  was, 
nor  did  Valeria  ask  her ;  and  her  assertion  that  she 
had  been  asked  to  write  for  the  Fair  Play  was  an  in- 
vention of  the  moment. 

The  conversation  then  became  less  personal,  and 
Valeria  presently  took  leave. 

"  Remember,  you  are  to  let  me  see  you  every  day," 
was  the  parting  charge  of  her  entertainer.  "  You  are 
just  the  friend  that  I  have  always  wanted.  I  have 
never  seen  any  one  who  suits  me  so  perfectly."  And 
the  sentence  ended  with  a  rather  too  warm  kiss  on 
her  visitor's  mouth. 

"  You  handsome  creature  !  "  she  exclaimed,  looking 
after  her.  "  You  step  like  a  young  empress  ! " 

"  That  '  young '  is  a  master-stroke,"  thought  Valeria. 
"  It  really  is  pleasant  to  hear,  though  I  know  just  how 
old  I  am." 

She  went  thoughtfully  to  her  room,  interested,  yet 
unsatisfied.  She  had  never  had  an  intimate  friend, 
and  she  would  have  liked  to  have  one,  and  one  as 
clever  and  amusing  as  Miss  Cromo.  But  could  she 
trust  her  ?  It  was  far  from  sure.  The  one  thing 
necessary  was  that  her  friend  should  be  sincere  and 
loyal,  and  ready  to  forgive  sometimes,  as  she  surely 
would  be  forgiven  anything  but  insincerity  and  be- 
trayal. Valeria  knew  that  she  was  herself  no  saint, 
and  she  did  not  expect  to  find  saints  among  her 


74  BY  THE    TIBER. 

friends.  She  had  not  found  them  anywhere,  least  of 
all  among  those  who  appeared  to  consider  themselves 
irreproachable.  And  affection  likes  to  have  some- 
thing to  forgive,  something  to  explain  and  excuse. 
That  was  its  peculiar  province,  she  thought.  There- 
fore all  that  she  had  heard  against  Miss  Cromo  was 
as  nothing  to  her.  She  could  quite  well  think  for 
herself;  and  her  inclination  had  ever  been  to  look 
with  interest  on  a  person  who  was  much  criticised. 
Popular  judgments  are  frequently  so  worthless,  —  a 
witless  acclamation,  like  the  running  of  a  silly  flock  of 
sheep  who  crowd  pell-mell  after  one  whose  nose  has 
happened  to  lead  him  in  some  new  direction.  For 
the  rest,  it  seemed  to  her  that  their  characters  were 
complementary,  —  she  standing  apart  as  a  spectator  of 
social  life,  the  other  an  active  combatant ;  she  un- 
ready in  defence,  the  other  ever  prepared,  and  scent- 
ing the  battle  afar  off;  she  religiously  inclined,  her 
merest  weeds  of  fancy  growing  with  roots  toward  the 
centre  of  things,  and  her  butterflies  all  Psyches ; 
the  other  intellectually  sceptical  and  material.  She 
did  not  fear  the  differences,  nor  entertain  any  phari- 
saical  exclusiveness.  Each  had  wit  enough  to  appre- 
ciate the  other,  and  they  could  quarrel  amicably. 

"  If  only  I  could  trust  her !  "  she  thought. 

And  still  she  mused  over  the  interview  with  a 
trouble  which  she  could  not  define.  She  would  not 
admit  that  she  had  felt  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
how  strong  is  an  unscrupulous  and  smiling  persis- 
tence, and  how  convincing  is  mere  bold  assertion  ;  or 
that,  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  she  was  sorry  for 
having  yielded,  and  made  the  visit  she  had  at  first 
refused  to  make.  She  sought  by  reason  to  combat  an 
instinct  which  had  never  deceived  her,  and  succeeded 
only  in  imposing  on  herself  an  apparent  acquiescence, 
which  did  not  silence  the  doubt.  For  reason  is  always 
imperfect  in  judging  of  character,  since  the  logic  of. 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  75 

the  Creator  overpasses  the  logic  of  the  schools,  and 
our  thought  may  not  grasp  the  premises  of  a  human 
soul. 


CHAPTER    XL 

BLACK  SPIRITS  AND  WHITE,  BLUE  SPIRITS  AND  GRAY. 

OXCE  a  week  during  the  winter  the  Signora  Pas- 
sarina  opened  her  house  to  all  the  friends  of  all 
her  boarders,  giving  them  tea  at  her  own  expense.  On 
the  same  day  Mrs.  Gordon  and  Miss  Cromo  received 
in  their  own  apartments,  —  the  former  with  closed 
doors,  the  latter  in  a  semi-privacy  from  which  she 
could  overlook  the  crowd  outside,  and  see  who  her 
friends'  friends  were,  and  also  if  any  of  her  own 
subjects  allowed  themselves  to  be  entangled  in  pro- 
fane wiles  while  on  their  way  to  pay  their  respects 
to  herself.  Between  these  two  ladies  there  was  an 
irreconcilable  feud ;  that  is,  Mrs.  Gordon  loftily  and 
severely  disapproved  of  Miss  Cromo  in  every  possible 
way,  and  Miss  Cromo  hated  Mrs.  Gordon  from  the 
bottom  of  her  heart,  the  more  bitterly  because  she 
had  vainly  made  every  effort  to  establish  an  intimacy 
with  her.  Mrs.  Gordon  was  a  favorite  in  papalina 
society,  and  was  a  very  honest,  if  rather  a  bigoted 
Catholic.  Miss  Cromo,  who  called  herself  Catholic 
without  having  the  least  reason  to  do  so,  was  deeply 
mortified  that  papalina  society  would  not  notice  her, 
and  believed  that  Mrs.  Gordon  was  the  cause  of  the 
Countess  Belvedere  having  given  her  the  cut  direct, 
the  Countess  Belvedere  being  conspicuously  papalina. 
Silently  and  coldly  all  this  society  passed  the  little 
woman  by.  In  vain  she  begged  the  few  whom  she  knew 
to  bring  their  friends  to  her.  They  did  not  refuse ; 


76  BY  THE    TIBER. 

but  the  tantalizing  prize  seemed  ever  within  reach 
of  her  eagerly  grasping  fingers,  while  ever  it  slipped 
through  them.  But  still  she  persisted,  having  perfect 
confidence,  and  with  reason,  in  her  power  to  hold 
what  once  she  had  grasped.  It  mattered  little  to  her 
that  she  "  ate  humble  pie,"  as  she  confessed,  to  make 
a  friend  or  conciliate  a  foe,  since  she  fully  intended 
that  both  should  afterward  be  made  to  feel  her 
strength.  The  chief  and  perhaps  only  value  that 
Valeria  had  in  her  eyes  was  in  her  being  a  member 
of  papalina  society. 

These  Saturday  receptions  at  Casa  Passarina  were 
considered  important  by  needy  artists  and  professional 
people  of  all  sorts.  They  came  to  make  desirable 
acquaintances,  and  to  snap  up  ingenuous  tourists,  es- 
pecially the  golden  geese  of  America.  There  came 
now  and  then  certain  American  ladies,  resident  in 
Rome,  who  held  themselves  apart  with  severe  coun- 
tenances, which  signified  that  they  were  on  no  account 
to  be  approached  by  the  vulgar,  and  proclaimed  to 
uninstructed  Italians  that  there  were  Americans  and 
Americans ;  and  there  were  also  a  number  of  Italian 
ladies  of  the  middle  class,  who  could  not  see  the 
difference,  and  were  charmed  alike  with  everybody, 
since,  after  all,  these  foreigners  were  all  so  curiosi  that 
it  was  n't  worth  while  mentioning,  unless  one  of  them 
should  be  guilty  of  some  unusually  brilliant  stupidity. 
And  there  were  the  tourists,  refreshing  to  see,  with 
their  enthusiasm  and  their  intelligence,  with  history 
and  the  guide-book  at  their  finger-ends,  talking  with 
expanded  hearts  of  great  things  under  the  supercil- 
ious eyes  of  people  who  dryly  talked  of  little  things, 
and  looked  upon  great  subjects  as  they  would  have 
looked  upon  caged  bears,  thankful  that  they  could 
not  get  near  enough  to  bite  them.  Those  dear  tour- 
ists in  their  travelling  dresses,  or  the  plain  black  silks 
which  they  had  put  into  the  bottoms  of  their  trunks 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  77 

in  the  palpitating  hour  of  packing,  and  who  believed 
that  they  were  in  the  very  pink  of  Roman  society, 
and  were  touching  the  outer  flounce  of  the  millennium ! 
What  a  wonderful  account  they  would  give,  when  they 
went  home,  of  these  same  receptions  ! 

There  was  little  Dr.  Kraus,  who  was  but  just 
launched  on  his  profession,  and  naturally  and  properly 
anxious  to  make  his  way.  Miss  Cromo  had  taken 
him  under  her  protection,  and  recommended  him  to 
everybody,  putting  certain  high  lights  into  her  pic- 
ture of  his  capabilities ;  and  he,  in  return,  attended 
her  assiduously  for  next  to  nothing,  studied  over  all 
her  little  ailments  with  the  solemn  anxiety  of  a  court 
physician,  artistically  painted  her  rheumatic  knees 
with  iodine,  bore  her  snubs  patiently,  and  was  alto- 
gether as  humble  a  servant  as  could  be  desired. 
There  was  Mr.  Clive  Willis,  looking  most  serious 
when  most  amused,  and  a  number  of  pleasant  lady 
novel-writers.  Occasionally  some  distinguished  per- 
son came,  partly  not  to  slight  an  invitation,  or  rudely 
break  a  clever  little  net  that  some  fair  hand  had  cast 
over  him  before  he  was  aware,  partly  to  see  how 
queer  it  all  was. 

MIL  Clive  Willis  had,  rather  impudently,  proposed 
and  copied  out  a  motto  to  be  written  on  the  cards  for 
the  Passarina  Saturdays :  — 

"Ricchi,  e  al  verde  di  cotanti, 
Qua  venite  tutti  quanti." 

But  then,  he  was  always  jeering.  Miss  Cromo  said 
that  he  mocked  himself  in  the  looking-glass. 

The  first  of  these  receptions  took  place  two  or  three 
days  after  Miss  Cromo's  return;  and  that  lady  invited 
Valeria  to  come  to  her  apartment  to  "  help  her  re- 
ceive," she  said. 

"And  receive  your  friends  here,  my  darling,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  so  much  quieter  than  out  in  the  Passa- 


78  BY  THE   TIBER. 

rina  sola.  You  can  always  use  my  reception-room 
just  as  if  it  were  your  own." 

Valeria  was  surprised  at  such  generosity.  "You 
are  too  kind,"  she  said.  "But  I  do  not  intend  to 
invite  any  one,  and  I  shall  have  very  few  visitors. 
I  will  come  with  pleasure  and  see  you  receive. 
Nothing  will  make  me  believe  that  you  need  any 
help." 

Miss  Chaplin  came  to  Valeria's  room  to  take  her 
to  Mrs.  Gordon's,  where  she  promised  to  go  later. 
Miss  Chaplin  was  looking  very  fair  and  pretty,  with 
a  good  deal  of  white  lace  about  her  silver-gray  dress, 
and  a  pink  rose  in  a  little  mist  of  mignonette  in  her 
bosom. 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  wear  flowers  ! "  Valeria  said. 
"  You  keep  me  in  countenance.  See  what  a  red  rose 
I  found  this  morning.  I  'm  making  believe  that  it  is 
a  ruby.  I  have  been  sighing  all  my  life  for  a  ruby." 

"  I  hope  never  to  be  too  old  to  wear  flowers,"  Miss 
Chaplin  said.  "  I  used  to  know  a  beautiful  white- 
haired  lady  in  America,  who  often  put  a  rose  in  her 
hair  to  fasten  a  lappet  or  a  veil.  Once  I  saw 
her  with  a  pale  yellow  rose  like  a  star,  and  it  was 
lovely." 

"  White  hairs,"  said  Valeria,  "  are  the  dawn  of 
heaven,  —  it  is  better  in  Italian,  the  alba  del  para- 
d'iso,  —  and  it  is  fitting  that  there  should  be  a  morn- 
ing star  above  them." 

Miss  Cromo  had  been  very  much  occupied  all  the 
morning,  and  was  but  just  dressed  when  Valeria 
went  into  her  room,  and  offered  to  help  her. 

"  If  you  would  be  so  very  kind,"  she  replied.  "  I 
have  not  a  moment,  and  there  are  two  or  three  little 
things  to  do.  Clara  Vine  is  in  Eome,  and  is  coming 
here  this  afternoon.  Will  you  please  find  her  book 
—  it  is  there  on  the  upper  shelf  —  and  cut  the  leaves, 
and  put  it  in  some  conspicuous  place  ?  I  have  never 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND   WHITE.  79 

looked  at  it.  And  you  might  read  out  some  little 
thing  while  I  am  dusting  this  Dresden  set." 

"  What  other  notables  do  you  expect  ? "  Valeria 
asked,  searching  over  the  books. 

"  There  is  the  painter,  Mr.  Hubert." 

Valeria  was  pleased.  "  Oh  !  I  have  wished  to  see 
him.  Is  he  nice  ?  " 

"  Such  a  dear  old  Turveydrop  !  "  Miss  Cromo  said 
affectionately,  while  she  wiped  with  great  care  a 
pretty  Dresden  cup.  "And  I  suppose  that  his  wife 
will  be  with  him,  —  a  die-away  creature  who  pretends 
to  be  sick,  and  is  well  as  you  or  I." 

Valeria  found  the  book,  cut  the  leaves,  opened  at 
random,  and  read  :  — 

"  We  caught  a  prize  in  our  nets  to-day, 

As  we  drew  the  shining  mackerel  home  ; 
In  the  midst  of  the  quivering  rainbow  lay 
A  face  as  white  as  the  cold  sea-foam." 

"  If  it  had  been  anything  but  mackerel ! "  Miss 
Cromo  remarked.  "  They  are  as  bad  as  onions." 

Valeria  turned  the  leaves  :  "  Here  is  one  called 
'  Fulgura  Frango.'  It  begins  with  a  description  of  a 
tempest,  and  a  note  explains  that  the  Liberian  basilica 
is  referred  to,  that  there  are  five  bells,  and  that  the 
campanone  is  named  Maria  Assunta.  Here  is  the 
ringing :  — 

"When,  like  an  angel  voice,  there  fell, 

Sudden  and  sweet  and  bright, 
Three  great  golden  strokes  of  a  bell 

Into  the  stormy  night. 
And  four  great  golden  strokes  of  a  bell, 

As  they  ring  at  dawn  of  day, 
Out  through  the  tempest's  deafening  swell, 

Cleft  their  musical  way. 
There  were  wind  and  thunder  echoing  far, 

And  the  wild  rain's  headlong  fall  ; 
But  the  bells  of  my  queen  of  basilicas 

Were  ringing  over  them  all  1 


80  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  '  Glory  to  God  ! '  (sang  the  major  bell), 

'  He  has  made  all  things  that  be. 
He  is  Three  in  One  ;  and  from  heaven  to  hell 

There  is  no  God  but  He.' 
And  the  four  bells  sang  out,  clear  and  bright, 

'  Glory  to  God  !  Amen. 
Forever  and  ever '  (through  the  raging  night), 

'  And  ever,  and  ever,  Amen.' 
The  faithful  heart  rejoiced  aloud 

At  the  chorus  clear  and  sweet: 
'  Maria  Assnnta  is  walking  the  cloud 

With  her  beautiful  shining  feet ! ' 

"  '  I  am  blest '  (she  sang  down  out  of  the  skies), 

'  With  chrism  and  water  and  prayer  ; 
And  I  break  the  thunderbolt  as  it  flies, 

And  scatter  the  clouds  of  air. 
I  call  the  people,  I  call  the  priest, 

I  mourn  the  faithful  dead  ; 
And  I  ring  a  pfean  of  joy  for  the  feast.' 

'  Amen  ! '  the  chorus  said. 
And  while  she  sang  so  glad  and  strong, 

Over  and  over  again, 
And  in  and  out  of  her  steady  song, 

They  braided  their  bright  '  Arnen.' " 

"  They  do  ring  so,"  Valeria  said,  interrupting  her- 
self. "  Maria  Assunta,  sonorous  and  slow,  and  the 
others  dancing  about  her." 

"Very  likely,"  replied  Miss  Cromo,  reaching  a 
feather  duster  up  to  a  very  ugly  majolica  plate  on  the 
wall.  "  And  I  dare  say  Clara  Vine  believes  devoutly 
that  the  lightning  snaps  in  pieces  under  their  feet 
like  macaroni.  She  is  very  superstitious." 

"'Comme  toutes  les  ames  poetiques,'"  quoted  Vale- 
ria, and  closed  the  book,  and  laid  it  in  solitary  state  on 
a  little  table  beside  the  finest  arm-chair  in  the  room. 

"  Oh,  how  provoking  ! "  Miss  Cromo  exclaimed 
suddenly.  "  There  goes  Mrs.  Gordon's  coal-gas ! 
They  never  kindle  their  fire  till  the  last  minute,  and 
for  half  an  hour  their  gas  comes  down  my  chimney. 
I  believe  she  does  it  on  purpose." 

Valeria  hastened  to  open  a  window.     Miss  Cromo 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WRITE,  81 

gave  a  little  scream.  "  Don't !  I  never  open  my  win- 
dows in  the  winter.  I  will  burn  a  pastile." 

"  But  the  gas  will  be  in  the  room  all  the  same," 
Valeria  said. 

"  No  one  will  perceive  it  when  I  have  lighted  a 
pastile,"  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

The  company  began  to  come,  and  Miss  Cromo's 
nostrils  breathed  the  odorous  smoke  with  perfect  con- 
tentment; while  Valeria,  who  would  fain  have  opened 
every  window,  and  shaken  all  shakable  articles  out  in 
the  fresh  west-wind,  hated  the  perfume  for  the  poison 
hidden  in  it,  and  fancied  that  her  whole  being  was 
full  of  carbonic-acid  gas. 

But  she  watched  with  pleasure  the  graceful  ease 
and  cordiality  with  which  Miss  Cromo  received  her 
guests.  Whatever  she  might  say  about  them  behind 
their  backs,  she  certainly  was  charming  to  their 
faces.  The  arrival  of  Mr.  Hubert,  her  "  dear  old  Tur- 
veydrop,"  was  hailed  with  murmured  rejoicings,  in- 
tended for  his  ear  alone.  She  wanted  him  to  talk 
with  a  very  distinguished  lady  who  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  the  slip-shod  manners  of  people  in  general ; 
"  and  you  are  so  courtly  ! " 

As  for  Mrs.  Hubert,  "  if  you  had  not  come  to-day,  I 
should  have  sent  this  very  evening  to  inquire  if  you 
were  ill.  I  have  been  so  anxious !"  and  "Mr.  Whitney ! 
I  did  not  hope  that  you  would  remember  me  when 
so  many  shining  people  are  seeking  your  society.  I 
wrote  begging  you  to  come;  but  I  was  afraid  you 
would  not." 

"  Mr.  Whitney,  my  dear  ? "  she  had  said  to  Valeria 
the  day  before ;  "  certainly  I  know  him.  The  dear 
old  snob !  I  could  twist  him  around  my  fingers." 

Dr.  Kraus  came  in,  and  bowed  profoundly  before 
her.  He  was,  apparently,  invisible  to  her  eyes.  He 
had  been  only  too  visible  for  the  last  fifteen  min- 
utes, talking  in  the  outer  drawing-room  with  Lilian 
6 


82  BY  THE  TIBER. 

Marshall.  He  watched  his  opportunity,  caught  her 
glance,  and  made  another  solemn  and  reverential  in- 
clination. The  spot  where  he  stood  was  a  void  to  Miss 
Cromo.  The  poor  little  man  looked  distressed,  but 
firmly  resolved  to  do  his  penance,  if  it  should  keep 
him  there  bowing  alternately  to  the  profile,  full  face, 
or  back  of  his  hostess  all  the  afternoon. 

"  If  you  do  not  instantly  speak  to  that  man,  I  will 
pinch  you  when  they  are  all  gone  away!"  Valeria 
whispered  to  her. 

"Ah!  good  morning,"  Miss  Cromo  said  to  him. 
Then,  more  sharply,  "  Why  don't  you  pick  up  Mrs. 
Smith's  glove  ?  Don't  you  see  that  she  has  dropped  it  ? 
A  gentleman  should  learn  to  do  those  things." 

He  bowed  again  profoundly,  —  this  time  to  Miss 
Cromo's  back,  —  with  an  expression  not  devoid  of 
anger,  and  obediently  picked  up  the  glove. 

"  I  wonder  he  does  n't  pick  it  up  in  his  mouth,  like 
a  little  dog,"  Valeria  thought,  looking  at  him  with 
contempt.  "  If  he  had  had  manliness  enough  to  turn 
his  back  and  walk  out  of  the  room  the  first  time  she 
overlooked  him,  she  would  have  written  him  a  sweet 
little  note  to-morrow,  asking  why  he  did  n't  come  here 
to-day." 

A  nice-looking  couple  came  in,  youthful,  with  very 
pleasant  manners.  The  gentleman's  face,  though  no- 
ticeably unsmiling,  was  very  agreeable.  Miss  Cromo 
introduced  him  to  Valeria, —  Dr.  Lacelles. 

She  had  heard  Mr.  O'Hara  and  Miss  Cromo  talk  of 
Dr.  Lacelles  that  day  at  table.  "He  is  an  ass!"  the 
Irishman  had  said;  and  Miss  Cromo  had  responded 
with  a  laugh,  "  Yes,  a  solemn  ass ! " 

"  If,"  Valeria  reflected,  "  everybody  here  should  be 
suddenly  bewitched  so  as  to  be  forced  to  say  to  each 
other's  faces  what  they  have  said  behind  their  backs, 
what  a  scattering  there  would  be  ! " 

A  pretty  young  woman  appeared  in  the  door,  —  a 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  83 

drooping  creature,  hesitating  there  with  a  light  poise, 
as  if  a  breeze  had  blown  her  so  far,  and  would  pres- 
ently float  her  in. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Vine  ! "  Miss  Crorno  exclaimed,  going  to 
meet  her  with  eager  affection. 

"  Our  American  Sappho  !"  she  said,  presenting  her 
to  some  one.  "  If  you  have  not  read  her  poems,  do 
so  at  once.  I  know  them  by  heart.  While  you  read 
you  will  imagine  yourself  in  Athens  in  the  golden 
age.  She  sounds  every  chord.  There  is  one  poern 
on  the  fishermen  which  would  make  your  flesh  creep. 
Then  the  '  Fulgura  Frango  '  is  superb.  Such  a  de- 
scription of  a  storm  !  Miss  Ellsworth  was  perfectly 
entranced  by  it,  and  you  know  Miss  Ellsworth  is  a 
judge,  and  herself  of  the  craft.  Have  you  read  her 
last  story  in  the  Aurora,  '  My  Dog  Tray '  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  wondered  if  it  were  a  true  story," 
Miss  Vine  said,  smiling  across  at  Valeria. 

Poor  Valeria,  who  was  crimson  with  annoyance 
at  this  display,  tried  to  reply  with  calmness,  "I 
made  the  story,  but  God  made  the  dog."  And, 
watching  her  first  opportunity,  she  slipped  from  the 
room. 

Three  ladies,  all  of  them  novel-writers,  had  met  in 
a-corner  by  the  door  just  as  she  came  out.  "  What  a 
meeting ! "  exclaimed  one  of  them  gayly.  "  We  must 
be  Macbeth's  witches.  What  shall  we  talk  about? 
It  ought  to  be  something  professional  Let 's  abuse 
the  critics." 

"  No ;  let 's  abuse  the  publishers,"  said  the  second. 

"We  will  abuse  them  both,"  the  first  speaker. said, 
with  an  air  of  the  greatest  satisfaction.  "  Mrs.  Wa- 
ters shall  begin,"  nodding  at  the  lady  who  had  not 
spoken. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  replied  softly.  "  They  have  been 
too  good  to  me,  they  have  been  my  best  friends." 

"Behold  a  woman  writer  who  loves  critics  and 


84  BY  THE    TIBER. 

publishers!"  cried  the  first  speaker.  "  It  only  re- 
mains that  she  should  love  the  printer  and  the  proof- 
reader !  And  yet,  she  has  two  eyes,  a  nose,  and  a 
mouth.  Did  they  never,  my  dear  phenomenon,  cut 
you  up  the  least  bit,  or  ignore  you  crushingly  ?  Did 
they  never  spoil  your  most  studied  passage,  or  change 
the  sense  of  it  to  something  that  made  you  want  to 
murder  them  ?  " 

"  They  have  found  fault  sometimes,"  Mrs.  Waters 
replied  pleasantly.  "  But  the  faults  were  there  ;  and 
if  I  was  not  aware  of  them,  it  was  better  for  me  to 
know.  One  improves  so.  I  have  learned  a  good  deal 
from  the  notices  of  my  books  ;  and  sometimes  I  have 
been  touched  by  the  kindness  with  which  a  fault  has 
been  pointed  out  or  excused.  Of  course,  now  and  then, 
but  very  rarely,  there  is  one  who  —  "  She  paused  to 
find  an  expression  which  should  be  gentle  enough. 

"  Who  has  ears  too  long  for  a  horse,"  supplied  the 
first  speaker. 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't  say  that ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Waters. 

"  Of  course  you  would  n't,  you  lamb  !  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  I  have  said  it  for  you." 

Valeria  passed  this  Olympian  circle,  and  was  in- 
stantly seized  upon  by  Mrs.  Carini,  and  introduced  to 
a  gentleman  whom  that  lady  was  evidently  anxious 
to  get  away  from,  and  who  apparently  was  not  sorry 
to  lose  her. 

"  Mr.  Allen  would  like  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
Sit  right  down  here  and  talk  with  him." 

"  They  tell  me  that  you  write,"  began  the  gentleman, 
who  seemed  to  be  a  clergyman. 

"  It  is  n't  worth  mentioning,"  she  said.  "  So  many 
people  write ! " 

"  May  I  ask  what  your  object  is  ? "  he  pursued,  with 
the  deliberateness  of  one  who  meditates  a  regular 
siege. 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  85 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  'm  afraid  I  do  not  quite 
understand." 

"  What  do  you  aim  at  in  what  you  write  ? " 

"  I  aim  at  writing  a  story." 

He  remained  silent  and  grave,  looking  down. 
Valeria  considered.  Should  she  let  the  matter  rest 
at  that  ?  Or  should  she  frankly  say  that  she  had  never 
thought  about  the  matter,  and  was  not  prepared  to 
give  a  reason  ?  Or  should  she  be  amiable,  and  try  to 
find  some  of  those  troublesome  whys  and  wherefores 
which  were  always  being  forgotten  ? 

The  gentleman  turned  to  her  suddenly  with  a 
smile  on  his  sober  face  which  was  very  sweet.  "  You 
think  me  impertinent ! "  lie  said  ;  and  his  voice,  los- 
ing its  somewhat  hard  and  formal  quality,  had  a 
faint  vibration  and  softness  in  it,  as  when,  opening  a 
piano,  after  the  first  sharp  click  of  the  lock,  and  dull 
thud  of  the  lid,  a  fold  of  sleeve  or  slipping  cover 
brushes  the  wires,  and  stirs  a  little  the  tunefulness  in 
them.  There  was  music  under  the  calm  exterior  of 
this  man. 

Valeria's  denial  was  not  spoken  in  words.  He 
surely  was  not  impertinent.  He  was  a  kindly,  ear- 
nest man,  who  could  not  and  would  not  learn  the  art 
of  small  talk. 

^  There  is  nature  to  praise,  for  one  thing,"  she  said; 
"  and  anything  is  good  which  has  a  tendency  to 
draw  people  out  of  the  city,  and  make  them  remem- 
ber how  far  more  beautiful  is  the  country." 

She  paused.  He  bowed  slightly  and  waited,  look- 
ing down  as  though  he  had  entered  upon  a  long 
silence. 

"Then  one  might  give  a  little  harmless  amuse- 
ment, a  little  timely  consolation  or  courage,  or  even  a 
warning." 

She  waited  so  long  that  he  was  forced  to  speak, 
but  with  the  air  of  one  who  merely  speaks  an  affirma- 


86  BY  THE    TIBER. 

tion  in  order  that  another  may  proceed.  "I  have 
often  found  one  or  all  of  these  in  books  that  I  have 
chanced  upon." 

"  And  there  is  one's  own  little  song  to  sing  over 
everything  that  is  beautiful  and  sublime,  and  one's 
own  little  shot  to  fire  at  what  is  evil.  And  the  song 
and  the  shot,  if  they  are  good  for  nothing  else,  are  a 
sfogo." 

Another  pause.  He  would  have  more.  It  was 
stimulating,  even  irritating.. 

"  What  can  one  do,"  she  said,  "  if  a  voice  that  will 
not  be  silenced  says,  '  Write ! '  and,  presumptuous  or 
not,  one  feels  that  it  is  the  same  voice  which  spoke  to 
St.  John  ?  Inspiration  has  its  handmaidens  as  well 
as  its  apostles.  The  lighthouse  on  the  headland  guides 
the  ship  safely  over  the  wide  ocean ;  but  the  lamp 
set  in  the  cottage  window  shows  the  returned  sailor 
the  way  up  the  grassy  lane  by  night.  It  was  worth 
while  setting  the  lamp  there  to  have  him  smile  in  the 
dark  at  the  sight  of  it." 

The  gentleman  did  not  care  to  push  too  far  one 
whose  voice  he  had  heard  tremble,  and  whose  eyes, 
he  suspected,  had  a  reason  of  their  own  for  being 
cast  down.  If  Valeria  had  touched  music  in  him,  he 
perceived  that  he  had  stirred  deep  waters  in  her. 
Yet  he  was  interested.  He  liked  to  know  what 
people  mean  and  are  about  in  their  lives,  and  he  was 
troubled  at  finding  so  many  who  mean  nothing  more 
than  a  bird  or  a  beast  might  mean,  —  a  thicker  tree  for 
the  nest,  or  a  drier  cave  for  the  lair ;  a  riper  cherry  to 
peck,  or  a  finer  lamb  to  rend  and  devour. 

"  Songs  to  sing ;  yes,"  he  said.  "  But  should  women 
fire  shots  ?  Is  not  charity,  rather,  their  province  ? " 

She  smiled  a  challenge  in  his  face.  "  Does  Charity, 
then,  stand  by  sweetly  smiling  or  only  helplessly 
weeping  when  wrong  is  done,  neither  denouncing  the 
oppressor,  nor  crying  out  for  help  for  the  oppressed  ? 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  87 

Such  a  charity  would  be  a  rather  insignificant  mem- 
ber of  the  abiding  'these  three'  of  St.  Paul.  Faith 
removes  mountains ;  Hope  recounts  her  visions  of 
what  lies  behind  these  mountains,  without  which 
Faith  would  not  care  to  remove  them.  Does  Charity 
only  speak  soft  words,  —  she  the  '  greatest  of  these '  ? 
And  when  Justice  drops  the  sword,  who  shall  take 
it?" 

The  minister's  cheeks  had  begun  to  redden.  He 
forgot  the  object  with  which  he  had  begun  the  con- 
versation. 

"  She  is  more  than  justice ! "  he  said.  "  She  is 
justice  transfigured.  Why,  when  a  condemned  crimi- 
nal is  recommended  to  the  mercy  of  the  executive, 
what  does  it  mean  but  that  there  are  certain  circum- 
stances which  the  letter  of  the  law  does  not  take 
cognizance  of,  but  which  would  render  his  condemna- 
tion contrary  to  the  true  spirit  of  justice  ?  What  is 
the  charity  of  the  soul  that  adores  God  but  a  burning 
sense  of  what  is  His  due  ?  Charity  animates  both 
Faith  and  Hope,  and  strikes  down  whatever  would 
weaken  the  arm  of  the  one  or  dim  the  vision  of  the 
other.  When  Justice  will  not  strike,  the  sword 
belongs  to  Charity." 

"  You  have  convinced  me,"  Valeria  said  slyly. 

He  dropped  his  head  a  little.  It  was  not  she,  he 
recollected,  who  had  made  objections. 

"  Our  neighbors  think  that  we  are  too  much  in 
earnest  for  a  reception,"  she  added,  seeing  that  two  or 
three  persons  were  looking  at  them.  "  And  here  is 
Mrs.  Carini  swooping  down  to  carry  you  off." 

Some  one  was  seeking  him,  and  he  rose  to  go. 
"  We  have  been  talking  of  three  ladies,  and  disputing 
as  to  their  relative  merits,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  spar- 
kle of  malice  in  his  expression;  "and  if  we  have 
said  no  evil  of  them,  it  may  be  because  we  were  not 
allowed  time.  It  seems  to  me  that  our  conversation 
may  be  suitable  to  the  occasion." 


88  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Valeria  resumed  her  tour  of  the  room,  catching  a 
sentence  here  and  there.  "  Never  make  an  enemy  in 
Rome  ! "  Mr.  O'Hara  was  saying  to  some  one.  "  They 
will  do  anything  here.  Last  week  an  Englishman 
was  followed  to  his  apartment  in  Via  Easella,  and 
murdered  on  the  stair  close  to  his  door.  He  was 
not  robbed.  There  will  never  be  anything  done 
about  it." 

Farther  on,  half  out  a  glass  door  opening  into  a 
garden  balcony,  Mr.  Willis  stood  talking  with  Clara 
Vine.  He  had  broken  for  her  the  last  scarlet  leaf  of 
a  woodbine  that  reached  up  to  the  railing,  and  she, 
laying  it  against  the  back  of  her  delicate  glove,  was 
smiling  faintly  at  some  thought  that  it  called  up. 
He  glanced  at  her,  then  over  her  head  at  the  more 
brilliant  figure  of  Miss  Marshall,  who  was  tranquilly 
flirting  at  the  other  side  of  the  room,  then  back  at 
her  again.  It  seemed  to  be  a  case  of  "  t'  other  dear 
creature." 

Miss  Marshall's  present  victim  was  a  painter. 

"  You  will  never  come  back  to  America  to  live  ? " 
she  asked  reproachfully. 

"  No  ;  I  am  better  off  here.  America  makes  a  fine 
perspective  for  a  view  of  the  world,  its  features  are 
so  grandiose;  but  I  prefer  Italy  for  the  foreground. 
You  surely  do  not  mean  to  return." 

"  I  most  certainly  shall.  I  greatly  prefer  my  own 
country,  and  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  what  I  can 
to  improve  and  beautify  it." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  but  that  your  going  will  turn  the 
balance,"  he  murmured,  gazing  at  her. 

Two  beautifully  dressed  women  were  watching  a 
third,  who  had  just  entered,  wearing  a  brown  satin 
dress. 

"  She  has  had  it  dyed,  my  dear !  She  has  had  it 
dyed,  just  as  I  knew  she  would ;  and  I  've  won  my 
gloves.  I  bet  with  Anne  Grey  about  it.  Anne  in- 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  89 

sisted  that  she  would  have  it  dyed  black,  because  she 
got  an  ink-spot  on  the  side  breadth  the  last  time  she 
wore  it  last  winter.  She  has  put  a  bow  of  ribbon 
over  the  spot.  Why  !  don't  you  remember  the  yellow 
satin  that  Miss  Murray  has  been  wearing  everywhere 
for  three  years  ?  Sometimes  it  was  veiled  in  tulle, 
sometimes  it  had  black  lace  flounces,  and  again  she 
wore  it  with  a  brown  velvet  corsage  and  bands.  When 
I  saw  that  brown  velvet  — it  was  new  last  winter  — 
I  said  at  once,  she  will  dye  it  brown.  It's  always 
safest  to  dye  yellow  goods  brown.  And  here  it  is 
launched  on  a  new  existence,  and  we  shall  see  it  all 
winter,  wherever  a  brown  satin  can  appear.  Next 
winter  it  will  have  another  change  into  black.  Fortu- 
nately, one  never  notices  black,  unless  it  is  something 
magnificent.  But  the  yellow  was  an  eyesore.  Well, 
I  Ve  won  my  gloves." 

"Perhaps  she  may  have  bought  a  new  yellow  one 
just  to  confound  you,"  whispered  the  second.  "  You 
could  n't  very  well  ask  her  if  it  is  the  same." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  could  !  You  can  ask  anything  if 
you  only  do  it  in  the  right  way.  If  you  are  very 
sweet  and  cool,  you  can  ask  a  woman  where  she  stole 
her  pocket-handkerchief." 

"  Hush ! "  whispered  the  other,  seeing  Mr.  Willis 
standing  near. 

" '  A  chiel  's  amang  ye  takin'  notes. ' " 

Next  came  a  fair  American  tourist,  glowing  from 
sight-seeing,  who  talked  with  a  scion  of  young  Italy, — 
a  tall,  slight  young  man  with  bright  eyes,  looking  out 
of  a  serious  Eoman  face. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  there  is  no  new  thing  under  the 
sun ! "  she  said.  "  If  there  were,  I  should  give  up. 
There  is  so  much  to  see  !  But  I  wish  you  would  n't 
change  anything  here.  These  improvements  spoil  the 
picturesque.  1  would  like  the  old  times  back." 


90  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  You,  madam,"  the  Eoman  said  gravely,  but  with 
a  deep  tremor  underneath  his  voice,  "  you  would  be 
very  picturesque  in  a  short  red  petticoat,  no  matter  if 
a  little  soiled  and  stained,  and  a  white  camicia,  with 
a  copper  vase  of  water  on  your  head,  and  your  feet 
bare.  An  artist  would  want  to  paint  you  so,  coming 
down  between  gray  walls,  or  standing  before  an  ivy- 
clad  ruin.  How  would  you  like  it  ? " 

"  Oh !  of  course  it 's  like  the  boys  and  the  frogs. 
But  nations,  like  people,  mast  be  content  to  take  their 
turn ;  and  now  it  is  America's  turn.  It  is  like  the 
rousing  of  the  clans  in  old  Scotland,  —  this  race  of 
the  nations  to  waken  the  world.  You  have  had  your 
time,  and  we  hold  the  torch  now." 

The  Roman's  eyes  flashed  through  the  sudden  tears 
that  filled  them.  "  Italy  shall  yet  be  the  torch-bearer 
a  third  time,"  he  said.  "We  slept.  We  were  not 
dead  ! " 

His  companion  looked  at  him,  then  silently  dropped 
her  eyes.  She  felt  as  though  she  had  unwittingly 
insulted  his  mother. 

How  touching  is  that  patriotism  of  theirs,  so 
wounded  and  so  fiery !  How  jealous  they  were  of 
every  glance  that  fell  upon  their  own  Italia  in  those 
first  days  when  she  stood  with  dishevelled  locks,  and 
wide  dazzled  eyes  half  incredulous  of  freedom,  and 
breast  still  panting  from  under  the  hoofs  that  had 
trampled  her!  As  her  stained  and  tattered  robes 
slipped  down,  they  caught  about  her  the  glories  of  her 
past,  and  pinned  them  with  a  sword.  And,  "  She  shall 
be  the  torch-bearer  yet  a  third  time  ! "  they  said. 

"  Long  live  Italia ! "  Valeria  said  to  herself,  and 
passed  by,  going  to  Miss  Cromo's  apartment  again. 

That  lady  was  speaking  to  Miss  Chaplin,  who  had 
just  come  in,  and  was  looking  at  a  small  crayon 
portrait  that  she  had  not  seen  before. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?     Burton  brought  it  to  me 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  91 

last  night  as  a  surprise.  I  had  not  known  that  he 
was  doing  it." 

"  Is  it  meant  for  you  ? "  exclaimed  Miss  Chaplin. 
"  Why,  it  looks  like  a  girl  of  twenty." 

Miss  Cromo  turned  with  an  angry  laugh  to  a  gen- 
tleman beside  her.  "You  see  how  we  old  women 
hate  each  other ! "  she  cried. 

Miss  Chaplin  blushed  slightly.  "  No,"  she  said. 
"  Burton  has  one  in  his  studio  that  is  just  like  you." 

"  It  looks  a  hundred  years  old  ! "  cried  Miss  Cromo. 
"  You  see,  Mr.  Smith,  how  we  old  women  hate  each 
other." 

The  sunset  faded  in  the  western  windows,  stars  and 
candles  were  lighted,  and  people  began  to  go  away. 
With  the  last  echoes  of  Ave  Maria  the  last  guests 
disappeared,  and  the  belated  dinner-table  was  pre- 
pared in  Casa  Passarina. 

Miss  Cromo  called  Valeria  to  her  after  dinner. 
"  Come  and  talk  with  me  a  little  while,"  she  said. 
"  Since  you  have  been  guilty  of  the  wonderful  dissi- 
pation of  dining,  you  cannot  think  of  going  to  bed 
now." 

Valeria  followed  her  with  pleasure  into  the  de- 
serted room,  where  a  wood  fire,  fallen  into  coals,  filled 
all  the  place  with  a  red  glow,  and  glistened  on  the 
many  ornaments.  Another  log  was  thrown  on,  and 
they  drew  their  arm-chairs  up  before  the  blaze,  and 
talked,  screen  in  hand. 

"  How  I  like  to  have  you  with  me ! "  Miss  Cromo 
said.  "  We  must  go  away  together  next  summer. 
Where  do  you  think  of  going  ? " 

"  It  is  hard  to  tell.  I  wish  to  go  very  early  in  the 
season,  and  to  some  quiet  country  place.  I  have  no 
experience  here,  you  know.  I  have  heard  that  the 
small  towns  are  not  very  practicable,  all  the  best  sites 
in  them  being  occupied  by  villas,  or  convents,  so  that 
strangers  have  to  live  in  the  midst  of  dingy  narrow 


92  BY  THE   TIBER. 

streets  where  the  view,  and  even  the  air,  is  lost.  Mr. 
Willis  says  he  feels  angry  every  time  he  visits  one 
of  those  paesi,  and  sees  what  a  waste  of  beauty  there  is 
all  about,  the  only  idea  of  the  class  of  people  one 
could  live  with  being  to  huddle  as  closely  as  possible 
together.  The  convents,  he  says,  have  all  beautiful 
positions,  with  gardens  and  bits  of  forest,  and  the  best 
views  possible." 

"The  convents,  yes!"  Miss  Cromo  said  sharply. 
"  Here  in  Italy  one  promise  of  the  Scriptures,  at  least, 
is  fulfilled,  '  The  meek  possess  the  earth.'  It  pays  to 
resign  the  world  here,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  al- 
most anywhere.  The  vow  of  poverty  is  worth  at 
least  a  thousand  dollars  a  year.  I  wonder  some 
benevolent  person  doesn't  propose  that  the  starving 
poor  should  all  take  the  vow  of  poverty." 

"  Our  Lord  promised  that  whoever  would  be  will- 
ing to  lose  his  life  for  His  sake  should  find  it," 
Valeria  said  gravely ;  "  and  that  to  those  who  devoted 
themselves  to  Him,  without  thinking  of  food  or  rai- 
ment, their  Heavenly  Father  should  provide  those 
things.  I  know  what  your  opinions  are ;  but  please 
do  not  express  them  to  me.  A  discussion  between 
us  would  not  produce  any  good  result.  I  am  devoted 
to  my  religion,  and  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything 
against  it.  I  attack  no  one  else." 

"I  could  be  good  if. I  had  you  always  with  me," 
Miss  Cromo  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  change  of  voice. 
"You  do  not  make  hypocritical  pretences  of  piety, 
like  the  rest.  It  is  they  who  have  disgusted  me  with 
religion.  Stay  by  me,  my  darling  !  You  can  do  me 
immense  good.  And  you  may  scold  me  whenever 
you  will.  If  I  had  always  had  you,.  I  should  have 
been  a  good  Catholic." 

Nothing  is  more  tempting  to  some  women,  to  most 
women,  indeed,  than  the  offer  of  a  missionary  station 
at  their  own  door ;  and  the  greater  the  sinner,  or  the 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND   WHITE.  93 

more  benighted  the  heathen,  the  better  pleased  are 
they.  That  a  remarkably  intelligent,  hard-headed, 
worldly,  and  mocking  little  woman,  nearly  twenty 
years  older  than  herself,  was  all  ready  and  eager  to 
be  converted  by  her,  did  not  strike  Valeria  at  the 
moment  as  unlikely.  That  she  was  being  enter- 
tained as  she  had  that  afternoon  seen  the  "  Sappho 
of  America  "  entertained,  did  not  occur  to  her.  It  is 
one  thing  to  tell  lies  at  a  reception,  and  another  thing 
to  tell  lies  tete-a-tete.  A  sudden  enthusiasm  sprang 
up  in  her  heart.  She  would  do  all  that  she  could  for 
Miss  Cromo.  She  would  bring  her  Catholic  friends 
to  see  her.  She  would  ask  Monsignor  Fenelon  to  call, 
and  she  would  persuade  Miss  Cromo  to  attend  to  her 
religious  duties  better.  And  how  fond  she  would  be 
of  her !  It  all  flashed  through  her  mind  in  an  instant, 
and  her  answer  was  ready  almost  before  the  other 
had  done  speaking. 

"  The  less  you  say  about  my  goodness,  the  better. 
I  am  not  a  hypocrite,  however.  I  will  find  some  one 
who  is  better  fitted  than  I  am  to  correct  you  of  your 
naughtinesses.  I  would  do  anything  for  you."  And, 
rising,  she  bent  over  her  companion,  and  kissed 
her. 

The  firelight  shone  brightly  over  them.  Miss  Cromo 
held  both  Valeria's  hands,  and  kissed  them,  then 
looked  up  into  her  face.  "  I  really  do  want  to  be 
good,  dear ! "  she  said.  The  expression  of  childlike 
ingenuousness  was  admirable,  but  it  did  not  quite  suit 
the  elderly  face,  which  had  settled  into  quite  other 
lines.  It  reminded  Valeria  of  the  mature  Mrs.  Frances 
Keinble  Butler  reading  the  part  of  Juliet. 

She  went  back  to  her  seat. 

"  And  now  tell  me  what  you  saw  at  Mrs.  Gordon's," 
Miss  Cromo  said,  changing  the  scenes. 

"  Several  persons  I  knew  were  there.  Among  them 
was  Monsignor  Nestore." 


94  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"You  must  ask  him  to  come  to  see  me,"  Miss 
Crorno  said. 

"  Certainly  !  And  the  Countess  Belvedere  was  leav- 
ing just  as  I  went  in.  .1  was  sorry;  for  she  interests 
me  strangely,  I  cannot  say  why.  It  may  be  an  air 
of  mystery  which  I  fancy  hangs  about  her.  She  has 
such  an  odd  way  of  looking  at  people.  Her  eyes 
plunge  into  them,  then  slide  off  like  a  shadow.  I 
have  never  heard  her  speak.  Perhaps  that  would 
destroy  the  illusion." 

"It  certainly  would,"  Miss  Cromo  replied  with 
bitterness.  "  She  knows  how  to  use  her  eyes ;  but  as 
for  her  tongue,  she  can  talk  only  gossip.  She  is  per- 
fectly ignorant.  And  there  is  no  mystery  whatever 
about  her.  She  is  simply  an  infamous  woman.  She 
had  not  been  married  more  than  three  months  before 
people  were  talking  of  her." 

Valeria  sat  and  listened  in  displeased  silence  to  a 
recital  given  in  language  as  scandalous  as  the  facts 
related,  more  disgusted  with  Miss  Cromo  than  with 
the  Countess  Belvedere.  Brought  up  in  a  New  Eng- 
land town  where  scandals  were  almost  unknown,  in 
a  pure  home  where  modesty  of  conduct  was  always 
observed,  and  where  no  unclean  word  was  ever  uttered, 
and  intimate  with  a  choice  literature  from  which 
every  disagreeable  element  was  banished,  she  had 
always  taken  for  granted  that  decent  language  was  an 
indispensable  component  of  decent  morals,  and  that 
such  expressions  as  she  was  now  listening  to  with  a 
shiver  of  disgust  could  be  used  only  by  such  persons 
as  the  speaker  was  describing. 

"And  this  woman,"  Miss  Cromo  concluded,  "  is  the 
idol  of  such  pious  saints  as  Mrs.  Gordon,  Miss  Chap- 
lin, and  Miss  Pendleton.  They  either  pretend  that 
they  do  not  believe,  or  they  suddenly  recollect  that 
they  must  be  charitable.  Hypocrites  ! " 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,"  Valeria  said  lightly.    "  Tell 


BLACK  SPIRITS  AND    WHITE.  95 

me  why  you  gave  such  a  terrible  slap  to  Miss  Chaplin 
this  afternoon.  It  was  too  bad.  You  know  she  is 
very  delicate  and  frail.  I  saw  her  hand  tremble. 
Besides,  the  picture  does  look  younger  than  you, 
though  you  look  wonderfully  young  and  pretty." 

Miss  Cromo  began  to  laugh,  half  amused,  and  still 
half  angry.  "  Oh,  I  have  the  whip  hand  of  Frances," 
she  said.  "  Sometimes  she  tries  to  make  little  disa- 
greeable speeches.  She  would  like  to  be  disagree- 
able if  she  dared.  But  I  have  the  whip  hand  of 
her." 

"  You  shall  never  have  the  whip  hand  of  me,  little 
woman,"  Valeria  said  in  a  caressing  tone. 
-  "  As  if  I  could  want  to,  you  darling ! "  was  the 
fond  reply.  "  It  is  rather  you  who  command  me.  You 
make  me  do  as  you  like,  and  you  say  the  most  horrible 
things  to  me." 

"  Oh,  but  you  do  not  know  what  a  number  of  horri- 
ble things  I  don't  say,  my  dear,"  Valeria  returned. 
She  had  caught  the  tone  of  Miss  Cromo's  honeyed 
audacities,  and  found  it  convenient.  "  There  is  a 
Spanish  proverb  that  is  a  propos :  '  You  see  what  I 
drink,  but  not  the  thirst  I  suffer.'  Sometimes  I  have 
longed  to  shake  you.  For  instance,  when  you  kept 
Dr.  Kraus  bowing  like  a  Chinese  mandarin  this  after- 
noon. I  wonder  you  dare  do  such  things ;  and  I 
wonder  still  more  that  people  will  let  you." 

Miss  Cromo  was  laughing  again.  "  Of  course  they 
will  let  me !  The  motto  of  success  is,  '  De  1'audace, 
et  de  1'audace,  et  toujours  de  1'audace.'  Just  assume 
that  you  are  something,  and  stand  your  ground  firmly 
that  you  are,  and  people  will  believe  you." 

Valeria  looked  at  the  speaker  a  moment  in  silence, 
at  the  small  head  thrown  back,  the  resolute  face  with 
its  steely  smile,  and  the  lady-like  attitude,  reposing 
without  lounging.  "  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  have 
a  contempt  for  most  people,"  she  said  presently.  "  It 


96  BY  THE    TIBER. 

is  quite  true  that  very  few  of  them  have  any  mind 
of  their  own.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  secret  of  many  per- 
sons' power :  contempt  of  those  they  lead.  They 
know  the  weaknesses  of  their  friends,  and  of  human 
nature  in  general,  and  while  pretending  not  to  see 
them,  they  play  upon  them.  What  a  number  of 
puppets  you  must  have  ! " 

She  spoke  gently,  even  languidly ;  but  was  con- 
scious of  a  very  decided  feeling  of  mingled  admiration 
and  dislike, —  admiration  for  the  strength  of  will,  the 
wit,  and  the  energy  of  character  of  this  woman,  and 
dislike  of  the  use  to  which  she  put  them. 

Miss  Cromo  bit  her  lip.  She  scarcely  liked  to  see 
her  principles  so  barely  presented.  "  I  have  the 
greatest  respect  and  regard  for  my  friends,"  she  de- 
clared. "  I  do  all  I  can  to  please  them ;  and  it  is  but 
natural  that  I  should  expect  a  return  of  complacency." 

"  Of  course  I  put  the  subject  crudely,"  Valeria  re- 
plied. "  I  had,  you  may  say,  made  a  visit  to  the  kitchen 
to  see  what  was  the  foundation  of  the  wonderful 
dish  the  cook  had  sent  up.  Of  course  it  is  combined 
and  sugared  and  garnished  by  an  artist.  S'intende. 
And  you  do  try  to  please,  and  succeed  too.  I  find 
you  charming  when  you  behave  well.  I  am  not  sure 
but  you  could  drive  me  a  little  if  you  used  the  whip 
softly.  And  now,  good  night,  dear.  I  shall  ask  some 
of  my  friends  to  come  to  see  you.  I  want  my  friends 
to  be  yours." 

She  bent  over  Miss  Cromo  and  kissed  her,  and 
stood  there  a  moment  smoothing  her  soft  hair.  She 
felt  a  desire,  almost  a  need,  to  love  her.  It  is  easier 
to  love  one  who  is  strong.  And  surely  there  must  be 
some  real  honesty  under  all  the  worldliness,  some 
honor  and  generosity  which  affection  could  reach.  It 
was  not  strange  that  she,  being  a  woman,  and  alone, 
had  learned  the  necessity  of  wearing  armor ;  and  who 
knew  how  many  blows  she  had  herself  received  before 


TRYING   TO  BE  "GOOD."  97 

she  learned  to  strike  so  well  ?  "  I  think  that  if  I  were 
hard  pushed,  I  also  could  strike  a  hard  blow,"  Valeria 
thought,  still  touching  the  silent  head  that  leaned 
against  her  arm. 

Then  there  were  other  things  that  had  been  told  her. 
which  had  aroused  her  compassion.  Miss  Cromo  had 
once  been  poor,  and  had  had  to  earn  her  own  bread 
till  an  opportune  inheritance  made  her  independent. 
And,  worse  than  all,  she  had  had  to  struggle  against  the 
menace  of  hereditary  insanity,  to  watch  and  fear,  lest, 
yielding  weakly,  she  should  be  overcome  by  worse  than 
death.  Who  could  say  that  this  poison  taint  in  her 
blood  was  not  the  cause  of  some  of  her  faults  ? 

The  head  was  lifted  from  her  arm.  "  Love  me  !  " 
came  in  a  soft  murmur.  "  Only  love  me  ! " 

"  I  will  love  you  if  you  will  let  me,"  Valeria  re- 
plied. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TRYING   TO   BE   "GOOD." 

FULL  of  this  new  affection,  Valeria  went  the  next 
morning  to  Monsignor  Fenelon  and  told  him  all 
her  story.  She  had  quite  reckoned  on  him,  knowing 
how  beautifully  his  stern  ideas  of  duty  were  tempered 
by  the  sweetest  charity  arid  by  an  almost  poetical 
enthusiasm. 

He  heard  her  quite  through,  and  hesitated  a  little 
before  speaking.  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  destroy  a 
pleasant  illusion  for  you,  or  to  discourage  you  in 
thinking  the  best  you  can  of  any  one,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
I  am  afraid  that  you  are  deceived.  I  have  been  so 
several  times,  and  I  have  no  more  confidence  in  her. 
That  she  should,  or  should  not,  be  a  Catholic  is  not 
7 


98  BY  THE   TIBER. 

the  point.  I  have  many  Protestant  friends  whom  I 
value  very  highly.  The  trouble  is  that  you  cannot 
depend  upon  her  in  any  way.  Her  sole  aim  and  am- 
bition is  social  success,  and  to  that  she  would  sacrifice 
anything  or  anybody.  She  seems  to  me  like  a  per- 
son who  would  die  grasping  her  worldly  possessions, 
and  crying  out,  '  Oh,  my  furniture  !  Oh,  my  ruba  ! '  " 

"  You  will  not  go,  then  ? "  Valeria  asked,  chilled 
and  disappointed. 

"  Why  should  I  contribute  to  her  social  ambition, 
for  it  is  nothing  but  that  ?.  Yet  I  will  go  soon  and  call 
upon  her." 

"  I  shall  stand  by  her,"  Valeria  said  a  little  defiantly, 
rising  to  go. 

"  I  wish  you  to,"  he  replied  quickly.  "  And  I  am 
sorry  that  I  cannot  take  the  part  you  ask  me  to  take. 
I  will  do  so  gladly  whenever  I  can  feel  that  she  is 
sincere,  and  I  will  gladly  own  that  I  have  been  wrong. 
I  hope  that  you  do  not  think  me  too  severe." 

"I  think  you  strict,  Monsignore,"  Valeria  replied. 
"  But  I  also  think  that  you  have  earned  the  right  to 
be  so." 

The  first  failure  was  rather  disheartening ;  but  she 
could  not  give  up  without  one  effort  more.  Her  next 
appeal  was, to  a  lady. 

"  But  what  are  you  laughing  at  ? "  she  asked,  stop- 
ping with  her  story  half  finished. 

"  Pray  excuse  me  ! "  the  lady  said.  "  I  am  laughing 
at  your  simplicity.  Did  she  kneel  before  you,  put  her 
hands  together,  and  ask  you  to  hear  her  say  the  '  Now 
I  lay  me  down  to  sleep '  ? " 

"  She  said  nothing  but  what  was  reasonable,"  Valeria 
replied,  much  offended.  "  I  fail  to  see  what  there  is 
to  laugh  at  in  the  subject." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  it  develop,"  the  lady  said,  "  and 
then  you  will  not  be  vexed  with  me.  Why,  my  dear, 
if  she  were  in  Constantinople,  she  would  fight  for 


TRYING   TO  BE  "GOOD."  99 

Mohammedanism  like  a  Turk,  and  she  would  never 
rest  till  she  had  become  head  sultaua." 

Tired  and  vexed,  Valeria  went  home,  liking  Miss 
Cromo  better  than  ever,  since  no  one  else  seemed  to 
have  any  real  regard  for  her.  "  I  will  stand  by  her ! " 
she  resolved.  "  And  I  will  go  and  tell  her  now  that 
Monsiguor  Fenelon  is  coming  to  see  her." 

Professor  Wagner  and  Mr.  Willis  were  with  Miss 
Cromo,  and  she  was  laughing.  "I  saw  Mr.  Adams 
this  morning,"  she  said,  "and  he  is  raving  about  Lilian 
Marshall.  He  says  she  has  the  liquid  eyes  of  Dome- 
nichino's  Cumrean  Sibyl.  Of  course  I  agreed  with 
him.  I  always  agree  with  all  the  raptures  of  a  lover. 
And  Lilian  has  fine  eyes,  and  that  very  way  of  roll- 
ing them  up  that  you  see  in  the  Borghese  palace. 
But  that  is  nothing  to  the  way  she  has  of  showing 
her  eyelashes  and  her  ear.  Did  you  ever  see  her  do 
that,  Mr.  Willis?" 

Mr.  Willis,  with  rather  a  bad  grace,  protested  that 
he  never  had. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  loveliest  effects !"  the  lady  went  on 
with  enthusiasm.  "  She  sits  with  her  head  turned  a 
little  aside,  and  slightly  drooping,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  hem  of  her  last  flounce.  Then  she  smiles  faintly,  as 
if  at  some  sweet  thought.  I  Ve  seen  five  men  sitting 
round  in  a  semicircle  and  staring  at  that  effect  with 
their  mouths  open.  Men  are  such  dear  trusting  crea- 
tures !  It  is  always  the  left  ear  she  shows.  The  right, 
unfortunately,  was  injured  by  being  badly  pierced. 
She  retains  that  position  about  two  minutes ;  then 
she  moves  a  little,  and  gives  her  audience  time  to 
shut  their  mouths  before  she  looks  up.  In  that  way 
she  remains  unconscious  of  their  admiration.  She  is 
such  a  pretty,  clever  creature  ! " 

This  was  to  pay  her  two  visitors  for  having  been 
remiss  in  their  attentions  to  herself  since  Miss  Mar- 
shall's arrival. 


100  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  And  now,"  she  added,  "  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse 
me,  for  I  have  promised  to  go  to  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore  with  Miss  Ellsworth,  and  it  must  be  time  for 
the  first  vespers." 

"  You  are  a  wretch  to  speak  so  of  Miss  Marshall," 
Valeria  said,  as  they  drove  away  from  the  door.  "  I 
have  half  a  mind  not  .to  go  to  church  with  you." 

"  Oh,  you  can  fling  some  holy  wrater  in  my  face  as 
we  enter,  and  I  shall  probably  disappear  with  an  odor 
of  brimstone,"  was  the  laughing  answer. 

They  went  up  to  the  church  door,  where  a  good 
many  people  were  entering,  among  them  two  dis- 
tinguished-looking Monsignori.  Great  simplicity  of 
manners  is  observed  in  Roman  churches.  With  that 
exquisite  good  taste  which  they  have  derived  from 
the  saints,  it  is  not  considered  by  Italians  to  be  fitting 
that  worldly  distinctions  should  be  made  prominent 
in  the  house  of  God.  Valeria,  therefore,  was  about 
to  do  as  others  do,  and  pass  by,  when  Miss  Cromo 
touched  her  arm. 

"  I  am  not  pious,  but  I  know  my  manners,"  she 
said;  and,  drawing  back  for  the  clergymen,  made  them 
a  reverential  and  rather  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

The  two  porporati,  not  accustomed  to  such  demon- 
strations, passed  by  without  appearing  to  be  aware  of 
the  salutation. 

"  Pigs ! "  remarked  Miss  Cromo,  recovering  her  equi- 
librium. 

They  went  in.  "  I  shall  look  at  you,  and  do  every- 
thing that  I  see  you  do,"  she  added.  "  I  intend  to 
behave  with  the  most  abject  propriety.  Where  shall 
we  post  ourselves  ?  Or  shall  we  walk  about  ? " 

"  We  must  'first  go  to  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament. As  you  know  your  manners  so  well,  I  sup- 
pose you  see  the  propriety  of  first  paying  your  respects 
to  the  Master  of  the  house." 

They  crossed  the  church  through  the  crowd  that 


TRYING   TO  BE  "GOOD."  101 

was  constantly  moving  to  and  fro  with  the  subdued 
greeting  of  friends,  and  low-voiced  talking  in  groups, 
which  make  of  a  great  Roman  function  merely  a 
magnificent  reception  in  honor  of  the  saint  or  the 
event  commemorated.  Here  and  there,  along  the  walls 
or  in  nooks  of  chapels,  were  a  few  silent  lookers-on 
or  figures  bowed  in  devotion. 

The  two  ladies  found  places  on  the  steps  of  a  con- 
fessional, and  seated  themselves  there. 

"  I  was  afraid  I  would  have  to  go  about  with  you 
to  make  my  courtesy  to  all  the  saints,"  Miss  Cromo 
remarked,  settling  herself  comfortably  against  the  con- 
fessional ;  "  and  I  am  really  too  old." 

"  I  do  not  give  so  much  thought  to  the  saints  as  I 
ought  perhaps,"  Valeria  replied.  "When  I  look  up- 
ward I  see  only  Christ.  I  reverence  the  saints,  of 
course ;  but  I  often  forget  them.  It  is  a  defect." 

"And  God?"  asked  Miss  Cromo,  looking  at  her 
companion. 

Valeria  returned  her  look.  "  Why,  Christ  is  God ! " 
she  said. 

An  expression  of  derision,  sharp  and  bitter,  passed 
over  Miss  Cromo's  face,  and  her  lips  parted  to  speak. 
But,  seeing  Valeria  color,  she  became  serious  for  a 
moment.  "  I  wish  I  had  your  faith,  dear,"  she  said. 
"  You  see  I  was  a  Unitarian  before  I  became  a  Cath- 
olic, and  I  'in  afraid  I  was  only  plated  over,  and 
that  the  base  metal  is  coming  out  through."  And  she 
began  to  laugh  again. 

"  I  presume  that  you  were  the  same  kind  of  Uni- 
tarian that  you  are  Catholic,"  Valeria  remarked. 
"  My  father  was  Unitarian,  and  he  had  a  reverent 
soul." 

Miss  Cromo's  eyes  emitted  a  little  sparkle  of  anger, 
while  her  lips  were  still  smiling.  "  It  depends  en- 
tirely on  the  shape  of  head  with  which  one  is  born," 
she  declared.  "  Now,  my  head  is  deficient  in  the 


102  BY  THE   TIBER. 

bump  of  reverence.  I  don't  know  whose  fault  it  is, 
and  I  don't  mean  to  accuse  any  one." 

"  I  think  it  depends  on  the  sort  of  heart  one  has," 
Valeria  replied  coldly.  "  Hush !  Here  comes  the 
chapter." 

The  clergy  were  coming  out  of  the  sacristy,  and 
passing  across  the  church  toward  the  Borghese  chapel, 
where  the  Immaculata  was  celebrated.  Miss  Crorno 
watched  them  with  enthusiasm.  "What  beautiful 
purple  silk  stockings !  and  what  lovely  yellow  clouds 
along  their  ermine!  And  as  for  the  lace  I  should 
like  to  get  behind  one  or  two  of  them  with  a  pair  of 
scissors." 

The  two  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about ;  saluted 
some  of  their  acquaintances  ;  went  into  the  chapel  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  to  look  at  the  veiled  Tamar 
between  her  twin  boys,  and  the  wolfs  head  that 
nature  had  taken  a  fancy  to  paint  in  a  block  of  Egyp- 
tian marble ;  came  out  again  and  listened  to  a  hymn 
sung  with  a  full  choir  and  orchestra,  the  music  of 
which  rolled  in  long  waves  of  complex  harmony  that, 
from  time  to  time,  cast  up  the  refrain,  like  a  pearl  on 
the  shore,  Ave  Maris  Stella,;  then,  with  a  rush  of 
advancing  sound,  caught  it  away,  sweeping  it  to  and 
fro,  hiding  it,  and  again  tossing  it  up,  Ave  Maris 
Stella,  with  a  breaking  froth  of  Aves  all  about. 

Then  Miss  Cromo  said  that  she  must  go  home.  "  I 
want  to  finish  my  article  for  the  Aurora,  and  send  it 
by  to-night's  mail,"  she  said.  "  And  I  shall  come  in 
and  read  it  to  you  before  posting  it." 

They  went  home,  and  after  dinner  Miss  Cromo 
came  to  Valeria's  room  with  her  bonnet  on,  and  the 
manuscript  in  her  hand.  "  I  shall  have  barely  time 
to  hurry  through  it,"  she  said,  "  for  it  is  later  than 
I  thought.  I  have  already  read  it  to  Miss  Chaplin." 

Valeria  wondered  a  little  what  extraordinary  sort 
of  article  this  could  be  which  was  so  displayed,  and 
prepared  to  hear  it  with  interest. 


TRYING   TO  BE  "GOOD:'  103 

It  began  with  the  meeting  of  the  authoress  with  a 
friend  from  another  country,  who,  after  the  first  salu- 
tation, suddenly  turned  to  her  and  asked,  "  Will  you 
tell  me,  pray,  what  is  the  root  of  the  Catholic  diffi- 
culty in  liome  ? " 

"  You  see,  it  is  the  same  question  which  was  asked 
of  you,"  the  reader  said,  glancing  up  with  her  hard, 
bright  smile,  then  resuming  her  reading.  The  article 
was  an  answer  to  this  question. 

Valeria  sat  stupefied,  not  hearing  a  word.  This, 
then,  was  Miss  Cromo's  motive  in  asking  her  what 
and  when  she  was  going  to  write,  —  for  a  pitiful 
theft  like  this !  And  what  had  she  hoped  to  gain  ? 
Had  she  hoped  to  intercept  her  thus  every  month, 
and  drive  her  out  of  the  path  ?  "I  could  give  her 
a  thousand  ideas  and  never  miss  them ! "  thought 
Valeria,  with  a  swell  of  contemptuous  pride. 

The  reading  ended,  and  the  reader  folded  up  her 
manuscript.  "  How  do  you  like  it  ? "  she  asked, 
without  looking  up.  Her  nostrils  had  a  slight  ten- 
sion, her  lips  were  slightly  compressed,  as  if  she  half 
expected  a  combat,  and  were  prepared  for  it. 

"  Oh,  of  course  it  is  quite  charming  ! "  Valeria 
replied,  drawling  her  words  a  little.  "  I  am  so  much 
obliged ! " 

Miss  Cromo  looked  up.  "  Have  you  sent  your  ar- 
ticle yet,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  should  not  send  it  for  a 
week  or  ten  days,  and  it  is  now  not  more  than 
four." 

"  What  subject  are  you  going  to  write  on  ? "  was 
the  next  question,  put  with  a  resolute  smile. 

"  I  told  you  the  subject,  too." 

Miss  Cromo's  countenance  changed.  She  had  meant 
to  oust  Valeria  from  her  connection  with  the  Fair 
Play,  if  possible  ;  and  she  believed  that  her  article 
had  exhausted  the  subject,  as  it  would  have  done, 


104  BY  THE    TIBER. 

indeed,  if  the  study  of  encyclopaedias  and  dictionaries 
would  have  done  so. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  now,"  she  said,  and  hurried  away, 
only  half  satisfied. 

Valeria  opened  her  windows  wide.  "  Come  in,  pure 
tramontaua,  and  blow  all  that  is  left  of  her  out 
of  the  room  !"  She  took  up  a  book.  "  Come,  sweet 
thoughts,  and  drive  all  that  is  left  of  her  out  of  my 
mind ! " 

In  two  minutes  she  was  among  the  gods. 

The  God  of  gods  be  thanked  for  pure  air  and 
poetry ! 


CHAPTEK  XIII. 

FLITTING. 

THE  weeks  slipped  away.  The  history  of  one 
would  have  answered  for  that  of  the  week  fol- 
lowing, by  changing  the  date.  In  January  Mrs.  Grey 
was  called  to  France  by  the  illness  of  a  relative, 
and  Valeria  found  herself  with  no  acquaintances  ex- 
cept those  which  she  had  made  in  llome.  It  was 
unpleasant. 

Many  persons  were  very  kind  and  civil ;  but  their 
kindness  was  such  as  people  show  to  those  whom 
they  meet  frequently,  find  agreeable,  and  forget  when 
they  are  out  of  sight.  All  had  their  own  affairs  to 
attend  to.  She  was  on  their  visiting-list ;  but  there 
was  no  one  upon  whose  heart  her  name  was  written. 
People  are  never  very  much  pleased  with  one  who 
withdraws  from  that  round  of  receptions  and  card- 
leaving  which  is  called  society,  even  though  such  a 
retirement  might  be  reasonably  explained.  In  this 


FLITTING.  105 

busy  world  few  have  leisure  to  examine  ;  they  have 
only  time  to  judge.  Therefore  some  concluded  that 
their  attentions  were  not  properly  esteemed,  and 
decided  not  to  press  them.  They  were  not  to  blame. 
They  exerted  themselves  to  fulfil  their  social  duties, 
and  expected  others  to  do  the  same.  They  could  not 
weigh  nicely  to  find  when  the  exertion  might  be  too 
great. 

One  disillusion  caused  Valeria  great  disappointment. 
She  had  fancied  that,  in  foreign  countries,  Americans 
stood  by  each  other,  and  that  they  would  have  a  cer- 
tain union,  which  did  not  mean  intimacy,  indeed,  but 
which  would  give  to  each  a  sense  of  protection,  and 
at  need,  the  strength  of  the  whole.  It  was  not  so. 
The  greater  number  of  those  of  whom  she  knew 
much,  either  personally  or  from  report,  were  divided 
by  petty  jealousies  and  dissensions,  and  seemed  to 
rejoice  in  each  other's  misfortunes.  They  struggled 
and  intrigued  for  fine  acquaintances,  and,  when  they 
were  successful  in  obtaining  them,  assumed  a  state 
that  was  pitifully  ridiculous.  The  English  had  more 
dignity.  They  were  proud  of  being  English.  Amer- 
icans were  ashamed  of  being  American,  and  longed 
to  be  European,  and  to  efface  their  nationality  as 
much  as  possible. 

Of  course  this  was  not  true  of  all ;  but  it  was  true 
of  all  whom  she  saw  much  of.  There  were  finer 
souls,  who  honored  their  country  and  themselves  ;  but 
she  looked  at  them  from  a  distance.  Circumstances 
did  not  bring  them  together ;  and  Valeria  never 
sought  any  one. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  regret  not  unmingled  with 
anxiety  that  she  saw  Mrs.  Grey  leave  Eome.  Mon- 
signor  Fenelon,  too,  was  going ;  and  she  had  depended 
greatly  on  him.  A  diplomatic  mission  had  been 
offered  to  him,  and  he  would  go  away  in  the  spring. 
She  would  be  left  to  fight  the  little  battles  of  pinches 


106  BY  THE    TIBER. 

and  pin-pricks  quite  alone.  "  It  will  be  like  living 
in  a  swarm  of  mosquitoes  without  a  net,"  she  thought, 
and  then  added,  with  a  sort  of  fear,  "I  hope  that 
they  may  not  prove  worse  than  mosquitoes  !" 

"  People  will  forget  you  if  you  withdraw  so,"  said 
a  Mrs.  Barry,  whom  the  world  remembered  to  call  a 
bore. 

"  I  must  bear  it  then,"  Valeria  replied.  "  I  am  not 
rich  enough  to  find  pleasure  in  society ;  it  is  a  labor 
to  me,  and  I  am  very  busy.  There  are  some  whom 
I  should  be  sorry  to  lose." 

She  had  gone  to  visit  Mrs.  Waters,  a  pleasant  lady 
writer,  and  had  met  several  ladies  in  her  sala. 

"  I  am  not  very  rich,  but  I  like  to  see  my  friends," 
said  another  lady.  "  I  accept  the  invitations  they  are 
so  kind  as  to  give  me,  and  am  happy  to  entertain 
them  when  I  can."  And  she  held  her  head  very 
much  back,  pressed  her  lips  together,  and  looked 
down.  Keproof  was  in  every  crease  of  her  gown, 
and  her  very  bonnet-strings  bristled  with  a  sense  of 
what  was  due  to  "  society." 

This  was  Miss  Murray,  whom  her  kind  friends  had 
called  "  Yellow  Satin "  the  year  before,  and  had 
already  renamed  "  Dyed  Brown,"  and  it  was  the 
identical  historical  gown  which  now  frowned  at  Vale- 
ria. These  friends  smiled  at  her ;  they  laughed  at  her 
reception  days,  which  seldom  brought  forth  more  than 
two  carriages  and  half  a  dozen  visitors.  But  they 
perceived  that  she  was  in  the  right  way,  and  was 
likely  to  achieve  a  modest  success,  especially  as 
she  knew  how  to  smile  sweetly  when  she  was 
snubbed. 

"  You  have  nothing  else  to  do,"  Valeria  said  to  her. 
"  And  you  have  an  independent  income.  It  would 
be  a  mistake  if  any  one  should  think  that  I  am  pre- 
tending to  despise  society.  I  am  simply  expressing 
iny  inability  to  avail  myself  of  the  civilities  offered 


FLITTING.  107 

me.  When  I  have  a  house,  a  maid,  a  carriage,  and 
even  only  five  thousand  a  year,  I  will  go  to  visit 
somebody  every  day,  or  invite  some  one  to  visit  me. 
But  now  I  cannot  consent  to  worry  my  life  out,  to 
pinch,  and  plan,  and  count  centessimi,  to  get  a  toilet, 
which  will,  after  all,  be  outshone  by  that  of  every- 
body about  me.  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Murray,  I  have 
such  a  respect  for  my  friends,  that  I  should  not  think 
myself  worthy  to  visit  them  unless  I  had  diamonds 
as  big  as  peas." 

This  speech  giving  the  lady  addressed  something 
to  think  of,  she  remained  silent. 

"  So  do  /  like  my  friends,"  Mrs.  Barry  said,  giving 
Valeria  a  cold  glance.  "  And  I  am  glad  to  see  them 
without  diamonds." 

A  beautiful  young  lady  who  had  been  a  social  star 
in  nearly  every  great  city  on  the  continent,  and  whose 
heart,  made  for  better  things,  was  illy  satisfied  with 
such  conquests,  paused  beside  Valeria  in  leaving  the 
room.  "I  understand  you  perfectly,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  and  held  out  a  slender  hand.  "  If  I  were 
going  to  remain  in  Eome,  I  should  beg  permission  to 
come  and  see  you  quietly  now  and  then ;  and  I  hope 
to  visit  you  later,  if  it  will  not  be  an  intrusion." 

"1  should  know  how  to  prize  a  visit  from  you," 
Valeria  replied.  "  I  confess,  I  do  not  care  much  for 
the  pedestal ;  but  I  admire  the  statue." 

The  ladies  went  away,  one  by  one.  Mrs.  Barry 
came  to  take  a  civil,  half-friendly  leave  of  Valeria, 
being  after  all  a  good  soul,  though  a  stupid  one. 

"  Take  my  advice  and  don't  let  people  forget  you," 
she  said. 

"  You  are  so  kind ! "  said  Valeria  sweetly.  "  But  I 
shall  be  content  to  be  forgotten  if  you  are  remem- 
bered." 

Mrs.  Barry  went  away,  considering  herself  to  have 
been  highly  complimented. 


108  BY  THE    TIBER. 

Mrs.  Waters  had  signed  Valeria  to  stay  after  the 
others. 

"  I  know  so  well  the  trials  of  a  peripatetic  writer," 
she  said.  "  I  have  tried  all  the  different  miseries  of 
it;  but  the  greatest  is,  I  think,  to  write  in  a  boarding- 
house.  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you.  A  friend 
of  mine  has  two  rooms  which  she  had  engaged  till 
the  middle  of  April ;  and  she  has  had  an  invitation 
to  go  to  Sicily  which  she  is  very  desirous  to  accept. 
But  she  is  responsible  for  these  rooms,  having  ob- 
tained them  at  much  less  than  their  real  value.  I 
think  they  would  suit  you  admirably,  and  you  could 
take  them  till  the  15th  of  April  at  her  price,  which, 
I  am  sure,  can  be  no  more  than  you  are  paying  now. 
They  are  in  the  Albergo  dell'  Oriente." 

"  But  how  could  I  live  alone  in  a  hotel  ? "  Valeria 
asked. 

"  It  is  only  a  lodging  hotel.  You  have  every  attend- 
ance, and  your  coffee,  from  the  family.  The  dinners 
are  sent  in.  It  is  not  in  the  least  like  a  public  house. 
It  is  perfectly  quiet  and  well-ordered,  and  the  people 
who  go  there  are  chiefly  tourists,  who  are  out  all  day, 
and  who  are  the  best  class  of  strangers  in  Eome.  Peo- 
ple who  come  here  to  study  the  glories  of  antiquity 
for  a  few  weeks  will  never  annoy  you.  Besides, 
recommended  by  me,  you  will  be  under  the  protection 
of  the  family.  They  are  respectable,  unpretending 
people,  and  will  be  very  friendly.  Come  and  see  for 
yourself." 

They  went  down  the  street  of  the  Triton,  entered  a 
quiet  vestibule,  which  attracted  but  little  notice  in 
that  crowded  thoroughfare,  and  up  the  clean  white 
marble  stairs  to  the  third  story.  The  look  of  every- 
thing was  plain  and  orderly ;  but  Valeria  observed  a 
point  of  richness  here  and  there  in  a  bronze  or  statue, 
or  table  bearing  a  slab  of  verd-antique  or  some  pre- 
cious marble. 


FLITTING.  109 

The  back  rooms  were  reached  by  galleries,  which 
surrounded  three  sides  of  a  dim  court,  the  third  side 
running  off'  behind  a  church  that  pushed  its  little  bel- 
fry of  a  single  arch  close  above  the  last  gallery.  In 
the  arch  two  bells  were  hung.  When  they  stepped 
into  this  third  gallery  the  noises  from  the  street  were 
but  a  faint  murmur ;  when  they  had  readied  the  end 
of  the  last  wing,  there  was  a  perfect  silence.  The 
gallery  continued  around  the  corner  of  the  last  room, 
and  led  to  a  terrace ;  and  back  of  the  terrace  was  a 
garden  full  of  vines,  shrubs,  and  fruit-trees,  with 
yellowing  mandarin  oranges,  and  roses,  even  now  in. 
January. 

By  one  of  those  charming  surprises  of  which  the 
irregular  streets  of  Rome  are  full,  this  last  chamber, 
which  was  three  stories  from  the  street,  was  level 
with  the  garden. 

Mrs.  Waters  opened  the  door,  and  Valeria  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure.  It  was  such  a  pretty 
rofltai !  The  colored  tiles  of  the  floor,  the  bright  au- 
tumn leaves  of  the  wall-paper,  the  birds  and  flowers 
of  the  ceiling,  the  gayly  striped  green  hangings,  gave 
the  room  a  warm  and  cheerful  look,  while  a  superb 
piece  of  rich,  dark  carving,  a  great  mirror  and  table 
of  cinque-cento  work  that  had  belonged  to  the  Prince 
of  Monaco,  added  to  it  a  certain  dignity.  Then  there 
were  paintings,  and  small  terra-cotta  copies  of  cele- 
brated statues,  and  some  fine  bronzes,  and  a  white 
column  supporting  a  large  vase  holding  a  white  lily, 
and  a  wood  fire  in  the  little  fireplace,  and  a  great 
square  of  sunshine  with  the  shadow  of  a  bell  in  it  on 
the  floor. 

"  It  is  not  common,  you  see,"  Mrs.  Waters  said. 
"  In  fact,  the  people  are  not  common.  The  landlord  is 
a  collector  of  pictures  and  antiquities,  and  has  been  a 
sort  of  artist,  I  believe.  His  eldest  son  is  a  noted  artist 
in  Paris.  You  have  a  door  and  window  on  the  gallery, 


110  BY  THE   TIBER. 

you  see,  and  a  door  on  the  terrace.  This  little  door 
in  the  terrace  leads  to  a  private  stair  by  which  you 
can  go  out  into  another  street,  or  into  the  picture- 
gallery  below  there,  where  the  landlord  has  a  large 
and  valuable  collection.  You  can  go  down  any  time 
to  see  it.  It  is  not  now  open  to  the  public.  This 
man  is  a  Syrian,  the  son  of  a  silk-merchant  of  Mount 
Lebanon,  and  has  lived  in  Cairo,  in  Smyrna,  in  Trieste, 

111  Vienna,  in  Venice.     He  will   tell  you  about  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,  and  the  Syrian  summer  nights,  and 
how  they  sleep  on  the  house-tops,  and  wake  in  the 
morning  with  their  heads  wet  with  a  dew  that  hurts 
them  no  more  than  it  hurts  the  flowers.     I  am  glad 
you  are  pleased ;  and  if  you  say  the  word,  the  place 
can  be  yours  on  the  first  of  February.     That  will  give 
you  two  months  and  a  half,  you  see." 

It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true ;  but  it  came  true, 
nevertheless,  and  on  the  first  day  of  February  Valeria 
found  herself  the  mistress  of  this  charming  retreat. 

Her  flitting  from  Casa  Passarina  was  not  a  very 
pleasant  one ;  for  the  mistress  of  the  house  was  suffi- 
ciently displeased  at  losing  two  boarders  in  the  middle 
of  the  season  to  be  a  little  disagreeable ;  the  ladies, 
who  had  constantly  interrupted  her,  were  unable  to 
see  how  she  could  wish  for  greater  tranquillity ;  and 
Miss  Cromo,  who  alternated  sharp  questions  and 
fond  regrets,  was  disappointed  at  losing  sight  of  one 
whom  she  was  beginning  to  hate  bitterly.  She.  was 
one  of  those  who  wish  to  keep  a  strict  watch  over 
those  they  hate.  She  was  irritated  by  that  will  which 
yielded  momentarily,  then  resisted,  by  the  confidence 
that  evaded  alike  her  most  insolent  inquisition  and 
her  most  honeyed  flatteries ;  and  the  suspicion  that 
Valeria  understood  and  despised  her  made  her  furious. 

She  came  to  visit  her  after  a  day  or  two,  and  ad- 
mired everything.  "  You  will  have  a  reception-day, 
of  course,"  she  said. 


FLITTING.  HI 

"  Certainly  not !  That  would  be  absurd.  But  I 
shall  be  happy  to  see  any  one  who  comes  any  day 
after  three  o'clock." 

"  What  is  this  ?  " 

Miss  Cromo  had  espied  an  enormous  envelope,  with 
two  or  three  documents  and  pamphlets  half  drawn  out 
of  it. 

"  Look  and.  see  !     I  am  a  shepherdess." 

It  was  Valeria's  diploma  as  a  member  of  the  Arca- 
dian Academy,  with  her  new  Greek  name,  that  flowed 
like  a  brook,  and  several  other  documents,  all  orna- 
mented with  the  olive-wreath,  the  crossed  shepherd's 
crooks,  the  drooping  lamb,  and  the  pipes  of  P£n. 

The  names  of  two  distinguished  Monsignori  were 
inscribed  as  having  proposed  and  seconded  her  elec- 
tion. 

"  It  was  a  surprise  to  me,"  Valeria  said.  "  I 
had  not  asked  it  of  any  one,  nor,  indeed,  thought 
of  it." 

Miss  Cromo's  face  was  flaming  with  anger.  She 
was  so  angry  that  she  forgot  her  rule  never  to  own  to 
having  been  slighted. 

"  They  would  not  have  done  it  for  me,"  she  said. 
"I  am  a  member,  but  I  was  proposed  by  my  Italian 
teacher." 

"  You  are  a  member  ? "  Valeria  said,  ignoring  her 
companion's  anger.  "  How  glad  I  am !  We  can  go 
there  together." 

"  I  never  go  !  "  Miss  Cromo  exclaimed  with  scorn. 
"It  is  an  anachronism.  The  organization  ought  to 
have  dissolved  fifty  years  ago.  Nothing  can  be  more 
ridiculous.  I  went  once  or  twice  at  first,  and  I  never 
was  more  bored  in  my  life.  We  sat  there  two  hours 
listening  to  a  recitation  of  what  they  called  original 
poems  that  had  n't  an  idea  in  them,  mere  rhymed 
words  such  as  any  dunce  can  string  in  the  Italian 
language.  There  was  a  bishop  seated  at  each  side  of 


112  BY  THE    TIBER. 

me.  One  had  dirty  hands,  and  the  other  smelt  of 
tobacco.  It  was  both  disgusting  and  ridiculous."  . 

That  day  she  left  Valeria  without  kissing  her,  or 
calling  her  darling.  The  omission  did  not  cause  any 
grief. 

Monsignor  Fenelon  had  understood  and  approved 
of  Valeria's  flitting  ;  but  Monsignor  Nestore  had  been 
harder  to  reconcile.  A  lady  of  any  age  without  a 
companion  was  to  him  a  very  doubtful  object ;  but  a 
lady  in  a  hotel  without  a  companion  was  simply  not 
to  be  thought  of. 

She  let  his  first  vehement  protest  effervesce  without 
speaking.  What  would  people  say  of  her  ?  A  young 
lady  alone  in  a  hotel  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  men  ! 
She  should  pay  some  respect  to  the  customs  of  the 
people  among  whom  she  lived.  He  was  astonished 
that  Monsignor  Fenelon  should  have  consented.  It 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was  highly  improper. 
He  disapproved  of  the  project  in  toto.  Why  did  she 
not  have  a  companion,  some  old  woman  or  some  old 
man,  to  go  about  with  her  ?  Why  did  she  not  speak  ? 
Why  did  she  not  say  something  ?  She  did  speak 
when  he  gave  her  the  opportunity. 

"  Dear  Monsignore,  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  care ! " 
she  began  ;  but  got  no  further. 

"  Of  course  I  care.  I  am  devoted  to  you.  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  commit  an  imprudence." 

"  But  listen  a  moment.  In  the  first  place,  I  am 
not  a  young  lady.  In  the  next  place,  the  house  is 
not  in  the  least  like  a  hotel,  and  I  shall  not  see  so 
many  gentlemen,  nor  see  them  so  freely  as  where  I 
am.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  flirting  in  Casa  Passa- 
rina,  and  Miss  Cromo  has  kindly  offered  me  the  use 
of  her  apartment  to  receive  a  friend  any  time  I  may 
want  it,  and  promised  that  I  should  not  be  interrupted. 
I  do  not  know  why  she  did.  I  have  no  use  for  it. 
In  the  Hotel  d'Orient  I  shall  live  as  in  a  glass  case. 


FLITTING.  113 

N"o  one  can  approach  my  room  without  being  seen. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  shall  scarcely  ever  meet  a 
soul  in  the  house.  Only  the  family  will  be  about 
me.  As  to  what  people  will  say,  they  will  say  just 
what  they  wish  to.  If  they  are  bad,  they  will  be 
malicious;  if  good,  they  will  find  no  fault.  And, 
Monsignore,  how  in  the  name  of  common  sense  am  I 
to  have  a  companion  when  I  have  scarcely  money 
enough  for  myself  ?  Besides,  I  am  not  a  Becky  Sharp, 
to  need  a  sheep-dog.  Don't  be  vexed  !  I  really  wish 
to  be  prudent  as  far  as  I  can  without  being  slavish. 
Consider,  Monsignore,  I  must  live  the  life  of  a  student, 
and  I  cannot  do  so  in  a  boarding-house,  and  I  am  de- 
termined to  do  so  in  Rome.  There  is  an  immense 
deal  of  good  in  Rome  with  all  the  evil,  and  I  intend 
to  stay  here  in  spite  of  everything,  and  I  intend  to 
conquer  every  difficulty  here ;  for  there  is  n't  one 
which  I  respect  enough  to  be  worried  about.  I  always 
conquer  in  the  end.  Don't  oppose  me  hastily.  Mon- 
signor  Fenelon  has  seen  the  place.  Come  and  see  it 
yourself,  and  you  will  change  your  mind.  I  promise 
you. that  if  you  still  oppose,  I  will  give  up  the  project. 
Go  to-day,  if  you  can,  please,  and  talk  with  the  land- 
lord. To-morrow,  I  will  come  to  ask  your  decision." 

"  Women  are  stubborn  creatures !  "  Monsignor  de- 
clared with  a  half-resigned  discontent.  "  They  will 
have  their  own  way,  though  it  should  ruin  them. 

I  have  to  make  a  visit  to  the  Princess  N ,  the 

sister  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  to-day.  She  is  in 
Rome,  and  has  sent  to  let  me  know.  If  I  have  time 
afterward,  I  will  go  and  see  this  place.  I  do  not  know 
anything  about  it.  And  here,"  he  added,  "is  just  a 
case  in  point.  I  was  at  the  Austrian  Court  when 
Maximilian  was  made  Emperor  of  Mexico,  and  I 
opposed  it  with  all  my  strength.  It  was  the  work  of 
the  Empress  Augusta.  She  was  determined  that  he 
should  go ;  and  but  for  her  he  would  not  have 


114  BY  THE   TIBER. 

When  the  troubles  began  there,  I  begged  that  they 
would  call  him  back.  At  last  the  Empress  got  an- 
gry with  me.  They  were  outside  Vienna,  and  I  had 
gone  to  pay  a  visit  to  them.  '  Monsignor  Nestore,' 
she  said,  '  we  like  you  as  a  friend,  and  we  are  happy 
to  see  you  when  you  say  nothing  to  displease  us. 
But  if  you  come  here  to  urge  the  recall  of  Maximilian 
from  his  empire,  we  do  not  wish  to  see  you  any  more.' 
I  rose  and  bowed.  'Madame,'  I  said,  'when  it  comes 
to  that,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  I  shall  never  men- 
tion the  subject  to  you  again.  Of  course  a  woman 
must  have  her  way.'  And  I  took  my  leave.  As  I 
drove  into  Vienna  again,  I  met  the  French  messen- 
gers going  out  to  inform  her  of  Maximilian's  ex- 
ecution." 

"  The  moral  of  your  story  is  terrible,"  Valeria  said. 
"  But  if  I  should  come  to  grief  in  my  obstinacy,  I 
hope,  Mousignore,  that  you,  at  least,  will  not  lose  your 
head." 

He  lifted  his  forehead  austerely,  not  pleased  that 
his  warning  should  be  jested  with. 

The  next  day  she  went  to  him  again,  feeling 
rather  anxious.  There  were  visitors,  as  usual. 

"  I  have  been  to  see  the  very  pleasant  rooms  that 
you  are  going  to  occupy  in  the  Hotel  d'Orient," 
Monsignor  announced  to  her  in  the  hearing  of  all, 
"and  I  am  much  pleased  with  them.  The  landlord 
and  his  wife  are  excellent,  respectable  people,  and 
will  take  you  under  their  closest  protection." 

"  You  must  go  to  see  her  there,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  Countess  Steinberg.  "  And  you,  Mrs.  Gordon. 
It  is  a  most  unexceptionable  place.  I  am  pleased 
with  it." 

"  How  finely  he  did  that ! "  Valeria  thought,  while 
thanking  him,  and  answering  the  ladies'  compliments 
and  questions.  "  He  has  set  a  shield  up  before  me. 
No  one  can  find  any  fault  now.'7 


FLITTING.  115 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  see  this  place,"  said  Lady 
Merton,  one  of  the  visitors.  "  My  carriage  is  at  the 
door.  Can  I  take  you  there  after  I  have  seen  Mon- 
siguor  a  moment  ? " 

The  other  visitors  went,  and  only  Lady  Merton  and 
Valeria  remained.  The  English  lady,  a  pretty  young 
widow,  had  some  favors  to  ask,  —  admittance  to  the 
Vatican  Museum  and  gardens,  and  audiences  of  the 
Pope  for  friends. 

She  lingered  most  unnecessarily,  always  chatting 
very  much  at  her  ease,  and  jesting,  to  the  prelate's 
evident  displeasure. 

"  I  cannot  make  you  out ! "  he  said  abruptly,  stand- 
ing before  the  sofa  on  which  the  two  were  sitting. 
"  I  have  known  you  a  good  while ;  and  it  is  like  try- 
ing to  read  a  book  of  which  I  cannot  get  beyond  the 
preface." 

The  lady  blushed  a  little.  She  was,  perhaps,  aware 
that  he  might  have  found  her  coquettish.  "  I  hope 
you  may  like  the  book  when  you  shall  have  read  the 
whole,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  sure  he  will ! "  Valeria  made  haste  to  say. 

"Now,  this  one,"  Monsignor  resumed,  turning  to 
her,  "  I  understand  perfectly.  Her  character  is  like 
a  clear  brook,  where  I  can  see  every  pebble,  every 
single  pebble  ! " 

"  He  is  calling  you  shallow,"  the  lady  said,  coloring 
with  vexation. 

"  frot  at  all ! "  he  replied,  with  a  cutting  emphasis. 
"  Some  brooks  are  shallow,  yet  muddy,  and  you  can 
see  nothing.  Others  are  deep,  but  transparent.  Va- 
leria is  not  shallow." 

Lady  Merton  rose  and  took  leave  with  the  best 
grace  she  could,  but  deeply  mortified. 

Monsignor  Nestore  called  Valeria  back  a  moment. 
"  I  am  pleased  with  the  place,"  he  said,  "  and  I  wish 
to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  the  rude  way  in  which 


116  BY  THE    TIBER. 

I  spoke  to  you  yesterday.  You  did  not  deserve  it ; 
and  I  had  no  right  to  speak  so." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  bent  her  head  over 
it.  His  was  such  a  sure-footed  dignity.  He  was  not 
afraid,  to  bend  lest  he  should  fall. 

Those  were  pleasant  days  which  followed.  Shut 
in  a  sunny  quiet,  it  was  possible  to  think  and  to  work, 
—  that  sweetest  of  all  work  which  is  an  exercise  of 
the  mind,  —  that  trying  of  the  wings  which  may  fly 
only  as  far  as  the  hands  can  reach  perhaps,  but  is 
flying  nevertheless,  and  so  preferable  to  creeping. 
Better  fall  with  many  bruises,  trying  to  fly,  than 
creep  forever  unhurt. 

Occasionally,  when  the  sun  began  to  decline,  some 
acquaintance  dropped  in  for  half  an  hour.  There 
were  a  few  kind  enough  to  come  thrice  for  one  visit 
of  hers  in  return.  Sometimes  several  happened  to  be 
there  at  once ;  and  it  might  be  that  they  were  not 
common  people,  and  then  she  liked  to  listen  almost 
in  silence.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  have  a  house  where  the  people  she  liked 
could  come  to  meet  each  other,  leaving  her  to  listen 
or  to  speak,  as  she  should  choose. 

The  weeks  flew  only  too  fast. 

Sometimes  the  Syrian  landlord  would  come  round 
by  the  gallery  and  terrace  to  the  garden,  and  would 
bring  her  a  rose  or  a  cluster  of  mandarini  cut  with 
the  leaves  around  them.  Now  and  then  he  would 
stop  and  talk  awhile.  He  told  her  the  Arabic  names 
of  things,  spoke  Arabic  that  she  might  hear  the  beau- 
tiful clear  language,  which  in  some  way  is  like 
black  coffee,  rich  and  not  too  sweet,  having  an  aro- 
matic bitter,  rather.  It  is  a  language  which  suits  a 
thin-faced,  bright-eyed,  turbaned,  and  haughty  people. 
It  goes  well  with  their  swift  horses  and  gleaming 
blades,  and  their  tents  under  the  stars. 

Then  what  pleasure  for  a  Northerner  to  walk  in 


FLITTING.  117 

that  little  garden  of  Hesperides,  where  all  the  trees 
hung  full  of  golden  fruit  at  midwinter,  and  to  see 
the  lemon-trees  that  lined  the  walls  pruned  of  long 
branches  that  could  be  burned  on  the  fire  when  the 
sun  had  dried  them  a  few  days  ! 

Then  there  was  the  picture-gallery,  room  after  room, 
crowded  with  paintings.  It  was  only  to  cross  the 
terrace,  go  down  a  private  stair,  and  shut  herself 
in  with  endless  delights.  This  Sant'  Antonio,  with 
the  upward  face,  and  those  hands  that  all  the  artists 
copied,  —  hands  that  Overbeck  had  stood  and  praised, 
saying,  "  Raphael  never  painted  such  ! "  —  was  de- 
signed by  Michael  Angelo.  The  Emperor  of  Russia 
would  have  had  it  long  before,  but  that  the  Crimean 
War  intervened  and  gave  him  other  things  than  pic- 
tures to  think  of,  and  the  subject  had  never  been 
resumed. 

And  this  other,  a  Domenfchino,  full  of  harmo- 
nious, form  and  color,  would  probably  have  gone  to 
Washington ;  but  here,  again,  a  war  had  broken  into 
the  negotiations;  and  the  seven  virtues  had  been 
called  out  in  living  colors  from  the  national  soul,  in- 
stead of  being  hung  in  glowing  canvas  in  the  national 
council-chamber.  Vigilant  Justice,  with  the  jewelled 
eye  suspended  at  her  throat,  and  her  smooth  cheek 
reflected  in  the  mirror  of  Prudence ;  Force,  with  the 
lion  on  her  shield,  listening  to  Temperance;  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity  softly  rounding  up  the  pyramid  of 
symbolic  beauty, — they  were  but  hints  of  what  had 
been,  beautiful  as  they  were. 

Then  there  was  the  Spanish  picture  of  a  monk 
casting  devils  out  of  a  possessed  man,  —  a  picture  of 
which  many  stories  were  told.  Men  used  to  stop  in 
the  street  when  they  saw  it  in  a  window,  and  laugh, 
and  try  to  imitate  the  grimace  of  the  man  who  sup- 
ports the  demoniac.  Pio  Nono  had  sent  a  letter  writ- 
ten by  a  prince  of  the  Church,  and  a  carriage  to  take 


118  BY  THE    TIBER. 

this  picture  to  the  Vatican,  and  had  laughed  till  he 
cried,  while  the  dignified  prelates  around  him  tried 
to  imitate  this  man's  nauseated  grimace,  which  Cer- 
vantes might  have  described.  It  was  irresistible.. 
One  looked  at  the  monk  holding  up  a  crucifix,  at 
the  lovely,  curious,  peeping  boy,  at  the  tormented  face 
of  the  demoniac,  from  whose  mouth  reptiles  were 
dropping ;  but  ever  the  eyes  went  back  to  that  other 
figure,  and  one  felt  an  impulse  to  make  up  a  face. 

Apparently,  one  little  demon  of  mischief  had  lin- 
gered in  the  canvas. 

They  were  pleasant  days,  —  such  days  as  one  goes 
to  Borne  to  see  the  suns  go  down  upon,  and  the  stars 
crown. 

But  they  fled,  and  March  was  waning,  and  she 
would  not  ask  to  stay  beyond  her  time,  since  her  stay- 
ing so  long  had  been  a  favor. 


I 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WITH   MOTHER  NATURE. 

IT  was  the  last  day  of  March,  and  a  day  worthy  of 
Eden.  There  had  been  nothing  of  the  traditional 
lion  in  this  month.  It  had  come  in  like  a  lamb,  and 
was  going  out  like  an  angeL 

Valeria  took  a  little  travelling-bag,  told  the  people 
of  the  house  that  she  should  be  away  all  night,  and 
drove  down  to  the  Piazza  San  Marco,  whence  a  dili- 
gence started  every  morning  for  Palestrina.  There 
was  still  an  hour  to  wait,  and  she  spent  it  in  the 
garden  of  the  Piazza,  which  was  all  fresh  from  a 
morning  shower,  —  spent  it  very  childishly,  being 
childishly  pleased  that  morning. 

A  bright-faced  little  boy,  with  a  gold  band  on  hig 


WITH  MOTHER  NATURE.  119 

cap,  came  by,  stood  a  moment  watching  the  lady  who 
walked  about  searching  the  clover  borders  of  the 
flower-beds,  and  when  he  caught  a  smile  from  her, 
came  in  and  asked  what  she  was  trying  to  find. 

"  A  four-leaved  clover,"  she  replied.  "  If  you  find 
a  four-leaved  clover,  you  can  have  whatever  you  wish 
for." 

Then  he  began  searching  diligently  with  her,  his 
round,  rosy  face  bent  close  to  the  green  turf;  and 
they  had  a  wonderful  discourse.  For  Valeria's  child- 
hood had  not  flown  away  when  its  season  was  past, 
but  had  hidden  itself  in  the  folds  and  windings  of  the 
years,  like  a  little  golden-winged  butterfly  in  a  gar- 
ment, and  she  knew  the  thoughts  of  children,  —  those 
wondering,  wide-eyed,  serious  thoughts,  that  are  so 
proud  and  shy,  and  will  not  utter  a  word  for  any 
force  on  earth. 

The  hour  was  nearly  past,  and  the  clover-leaf  was 
not  found.  Perhaps  it  does  not  grow  in  Rome. 

"  What  would  you  have  wished  for  if  you  had  found 
it  ? "  asked  the  lady. 

"  Oh,  I  was  searching  for  it  for  you  ! "  the  boy  an- 
swered. "  I  don't  want  anything." 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  do  not  want  anything,"  she 
replied.  "  And  that  is  the  magical  thing  we  have 
found,  you  see,  —  contentment !  They  are  putting  the 
horses  to  the  carriage  over  there.  I  must  go.  Good- 
by,  little  boy !  I  hope  that  you  will  never  want 
anything." 

He  raised  his  cap  with  a  modest  manliness,  stood 
looking  after  her  till  she  had  taken  her  seat  in  the 
diligence,  exchanged  another  smile  with  her,  and  went 
his  way. 

The  diligence,  a  remarkably  shabby,  but  perfectly 
comfortable  vehicle,  rattled  away  through  the  Trajan 
Forum.  It  was  the  first  time  Valeria  had  travelled  in 
such  a  carriage  since  those  days  when  she  had  gone 


120  BY  THE    TIBER. 

in  a  great  yellow  coach  with  four  horses  through  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  pleasant  country  roads  in  the  Pine- 
tree  State,  far  away  across  the  ocean.  Did  they  travel 
in  coaches  now  up  hill  and  down  dale  through  the 
lovely  woods  of  Maine  ?  And  were  the  passengers 
ever  sea-sick  with  the  rolling  of  their  splendid  coach  ? 

The  scent  of  those  Northern  pines  and  cedars  seemed 
to  float  across  the  ocean  and  the  years,  swathing  in 
mists  of  the  past  the  great  umbrella  pines  of  the 
South ;  and  where  the  snow-laden  birches  had  bent  like 
Eastern  courtiers  before  their  Emperor,  ivy  and  grape- 
vines swept  like  a  tapestry  ;  and  instead  of  the  little 
red  school-house  was  a  storied  immemorial  ruin,  and 
instead  of  white  cottages  looking  down  from  slop- 
ing hills,  dark  castles  and  convents  grasped  the  beet- 
ling cliffs  with  their  claws  of  stone  and  iron. 

The  sky  softly  clouded  over,  and  a  light  shower 
came  down,  making  the  fresh  landscape  still  lovelier. 
They  stopped  a  few  minutes  at  the  antique  Osteria  di 
Finocchio,  and  went  into  the  black  old  kitchen,  where 
a  woman  was  cooking  at  a  vast,  cavernous  fireplace, 
and  men  were  drinking  at  the  tables.  Then  on  again 
under  the  soft  sprinkling  of  the  skies. 

The  country  grew  lovelier  as  they  advanced.  It 
seemed  to  have  rained  flowers.  The  rich  valleys  and 
slopes,  where  the  mountains  press  closer  and  crowd 
the  campagna,  were  miracles  of  delicate  coloring. 
Peach,  almond,  and  cherry  trees  were  swathed  in  white 
and  pink  mists  of  bloom,  the  wide-spreading  vineyards 
were  cobwebbed  over  with  the  clouded  amber  of 
newly  set  canes,  rivers  of  golden-green  verdure  ran 
between  the  hills,  and  carpets  o/  the  same  lay  fringed 
out  under  the  trees.  A  soft  tumult  of  lights  and 
shades  chased  each  other  over  plain  and  mountain. 
It  was  an  infantine  beauty  and  life,  —  spring  newly 
born,  and  smiling  and  playing  to  itself. 

As  they  began  the  long,  gentle  ascent  that  leads  to 


WITH  MOTHER  NATURE.  121 

Palestrina,  a  light  breeze  from  the  west  drew  the  clouds 
away  as  softly  as  a  mother  might  draw  the  curtain 
from  a  sleeping  babe  she  wishes  to  display,  yet  fears 
to  waken,  and  a  sudden  rainbow,  faint,  yet  perfect, 
started  out  and  hung  trembling  above  the  earth,  with- 
out disturbing  that  trance  of  dewy,  silvery  air ;  and 
the  duplicate  bow  answered  the  first  as  in  a  whisper. 
The  wide  sunbeams  that  came  across  the  world  put  off 
their  glory  as  they  caressed  the  scene,  as  Hector  his 
plumes  for  the  frightened  babe. 

Down  the  steep  banks  by  the  roadside  hung  a  thin 
veil  of  ivy,  pierced  with  countless  blue  flowers  ;  here 
and  there  was  thrust  out  a  slender  branch  with  a  light 
sprinkle  of  blossoms  like  snow-flakes. 

Then  the  gray  old  city  came  in  sight,  slipping  down 
the  lap  of  the  hill,  with  the  gray  barren  rocks  above, 
and  the  hamlet  of  San  Pietro  with  its  ruined  fortress 
at  the  summit,  and  a  ruined  wall  zigzagging  from  top 
to  bottom. 

"  Ave,  Fortuna  Prenestina  ! "  whispered  Valeria, 
leaning  out  the  window.  "  Hail  to  the  sacred  city  from 
which  even  Rome  could  not  tear  the  fugitive  !  Hail 
to  the  ruined  fortress  of  Stefano  Colonna,  whose  brave 
heart  never  surrendered  !  Hail  to  the  foundations  of 
the  wall  over  which  poor  Marius  was  drawn,  and 
which  Pompey  the  Great  and  cruel  Sylla  besieged ! 
Hail  to  the  thrice-destroyed  Preneste,  the  ploughed 
and  sown  with  salt,  which  laughs  out  in  wine  and 
roses  after  the  triple  destruction  !  " 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  it 's  an  awfully  filthy  place," 
she  thought,  leaning  resignedly  back,  after  having 
fired  off'  her  salute. 

The  event  justified  her  fears.  It  was  a  filthy  town. 
They  stopped  in  the  Piazza,  before  the  seminary,  set 
all  along  its  front  with  fragments  of  the  temple  of 
Fortune ;  a  boy  took  her  travelling-bag,  and  conducted 
her  up  a  long  street-stair,  then  a  long  house-stair, 


122  BY  THE    TIBER. 

to  an  apartment  where  a  large,  rosy-faced  woman 
came  to  meet  her,  smiling,  and  breathing  quickly 
with  eagerness  to  make  her  the  most  utterly  com- 
fortable and  contented  person  on  earth.  No  small 
reserves  nor  laundried  dignities  nor  microscopic  pro- 
prieties could  live  in  the  presence  of  this  large, 
glowing  creature.  She  melted  them  down  with  her 
genial  kindness,  or  laughed  them  away  with  her  good- 
natured  scorn.  She  took  possession  of  Valeria,  fed 
and  rested  her  effectually,  asked  and  learned  all  her 
affairs,  and  the  reasons  of  them;  insisted  that  she 
should  marry,  and  recommended  an  excellent  husband 
to  her ;  then  told  her  own  history  in  a  clear,  sketchy 
style  which  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

Valeria  laughed,  submitted,  and  was  contented  with 
everything. 

"  I  think  that  you  are  the  goddess  of  Fortune,"  she 
said.  "And  if  you  are,  you  can  procure  me  a  carriage. 
I  wish  to  drive  about  a  little,  before  dark." 

A  carriage  ?  Yes,  as  many  carriages  as  she  wanted. 
"Felicetta,  go  and  tell  Pietro  to  have  his  carriage 
ready  at  once  for  Madama  Valeria." 

"  You  can  be  perfectly  comfortable  here,"  she  pur- 
sued. "It  may  seem  rough  at  first;  but  you  will 
soon  like  it.  I  don't  starve  my  family.  There  is  the 
best  of  meat,  fowl,  and  birds  ;  there  are  fresh  eggs,  good 
wine  of  our  own  making,  fruit ;  there  is  every  sort  of 
cheese  —  c'£  tutto !  I  have  a  Danish  artist,  who  has 
been  here  eight  months,  the  Signer  Eduardo.  His 
studio  is  up  in  the  old  palace,  but  he  eats  and  sleeps 
here.  His  room  is  down  in  that  other  house,  where 
yours  will  be.  I  took  an  apartment  below,  because  I 
have  no  rooms  to  spare  here,  my  family  is  so  large. 
You  can  choose  the  room  you  like  best.  Your  coffee 
will  be  sent  down  to  you  ;  but  dinner  and  supper  will 
be  here,  unless  you  want  that  sent  down  too.  But 
it  is  better  to  come  up.  It  will  do  you  good  to  see 


WITH  MOTHER  NATURE.  123 

people  and  talk  a  little.  My  husband  was  a  famous 
painter,  and  he  always  said  that  after  working  for 
hours  it  did  him  good  to  talk  awhile.  He  went  to 
Russia  to  fresco  the  Emperor's  palaces,  and  was  killed 
on  his  way  back.  They  made  a  great  deal  of  him 
there,  and  the  Grand  Duchess  Maria  sent  me  a  lovely 
watch  and  chain.  I  will  show  them  to  you."  And 
the  Signora  Maria  displayed  the  exquisite  royal 
gift,  —  a  tiny  enamelled  watch  with  a  chain  of  fairy 
delicacy. 

The  carriage  was  ready  promptly,  and  Valeria  drove 
to  the  old  palace,  where  she  had  another  errand  be- 
sides seeing  the  famous  mosaic.  Perhaps  she  too 
could  have  a  writing  studio  there,  as  the  Dane  had 
one  for  painting. 

Troops  of  filthy,  impudent  children  ran  to  the  car- 
riage, clamoring  for  un  baiocco,  and  followed  her  up 
the  steps  to  the  grand  half-moon  concave  of  the  old 
palace  front.  An  old  woman,  the  custode,  came  out 
and  drove  them  away,  and  showed  her  the  mosaic. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  see  in  this  deserted  and 
ruined  place,  unless  Madama  would  like  to  see  the 
Tempietto  at  the  very  top. 

Of  course  she  would  like  to  see  it.  So  they  went 
up  farther,  passing  through  a  grassy  enclosed  garden, 
where  statues  lay  fallen  from  their  niches  and  half 
hidden  in  verdure.  In  the  Tempietto,  which  was  an 
open  loggia  in  front  of  a  painted  chamber  enclosed  on 
three  sides,  the  Signor  Eduardo  of  the  Signora  Maria 
was  painting  with  a  model.  He  was  a  slender  young 
man,  scarce  over  thirty  years  of  age,  with  exquisitely 
pure  and  regular  features,  blond  hair  and  beard,  and 
blue  eyes.  He  looked  calm  and  modest,  even  cold. 
He  was  a  flower  of  the  North. 

All  round  him  was  unrolled  the  magnificent  pano- 
rama of  mountain  and  plain,  with  Rome  crouching  at 
the  west  under  its  everlasting  mists,  and  far-stretching 


124  BY  THE   TIBER. 

mountains  fading  toward  the  east  from  black  to  purple, 
from  purple  to  violet,  from  violet  to  gray,  from  gray  to 
silver,  and  from  silver  to  a  dream.  And  where  they 
ceased,  the  eye  knew  not.  Southward,  beyond  the 
Volscian  hills,  lay  the  sea  in  the  misty  clasp  of  the 
far-off  promontory  of  the  Siren. 

Down,  and  into  the  carriage  again  went  Valeria, 
fully  content ;  for  she  had  already  engaged  her  studio. 
It  was  a  bare,  grim  chamber ;  but  it  had  a  window 
that  showed  all  that  beautiful  world.  They  drove 
outside  the  walls,  only  glancing  along,  without  stop- 
ping, since  the  sun  was  low.  Presently  they  came 
to  a  road  that  had  an  ancient  narrow  paved  road 
running  beside  it,  the  ancient  Via  Prenestina.  The 
town  was  hidden  from  them.  They  stopped  at  a  large 
gate  in  the  wall.  "  It  is  Villa  Frattina,"  the  vetturino 
said. 

In  the  gate  stood  a  serious,  dark-faced  man  of  over 
sixty  years  of  age,  whom  you  would  have  hesitated  to 
classify.  He  had  too  much  dignity  to  be  called  a  con- 
tadino,  or  a  common  laborer ;  yet  he  was  dressed  like 
a  laboring  man.  He  carried  himself  well,  was  not 
too  ready  with  his  salutation,  and  did  not  smile  nor 
come  forward  on  being  addressed. 

"  Madama  would  like  to  see  the  villa,  with  your 
permission,"  the  vetturino  said  to  this  man.  "  Padro- 
nissima ! "  was  the  reply.  And  Marco  Bandini  opened 
the  gate  wider,  and  lifted  his  straw  hat  and  looked  at 
her  gravely  as  the  lady  passed  him,  but  made  no  fur- 
ther compliments.  When  she  had  entered,  he  went 
slowly  out  and  began  to  talk  with  the  vetturino. 

A  Janus  of  crumbling  gray  stone  stood  at  either 
hand  inside  the  gate,  a  path  led  along  the  wall  under 
the  trees,  and  the  path  that  led  straight  to  the  house 
was  bordered  with  a  hedge  of  box  that  spread  out  into 
a  semicircle  set  with  ancient  statues  and  busts  found 
on  the  place.  The  grounds  rose  in  gardens  and  ter- 


WITH  MOTHER  NATURE.  125 

races  from  the  road,  all  the  details  of  them  smothered 
in  foliage,  over  which,  from  the  summit  of  the  gradual 
elevation,  looked  a  few  fine  cypresses. 

Valeria  walked  along  the  wall  in  the  eastern  direc- 
tion, turned  and  entered  a  dark  laurel  avenue  closely 
overarched  with  glossy,  shining  boughs,  and  pursued 
that  fragrant  twilight  to  the  upper  terrace,  where 
stood  the  finest  trees,  and  where  rose-bushes  were 
tangled  in  the  hedges  and  clung  to  the  trunks  of 
cypresses. 

The  hedges  enclosed  in  the  centre  a  green  chamber 
with  statues,  and  reaches  of  dark  laurel  walks  stretch- 
ing to  right  and  left,  and  below,  a  great  square  wrought 
in  a  pattern  with  fine, low  box  hedge,  that  was  beginning 
now  to  sprout  with  brighter  green  along  its  squares 
and  angles  and  wheels.  From  this  upper  terrace, 
looking  through  the  parted  boughs,  could  be  seen  a 
line  of  purple  mountains,  showing  in  bold,  yet  harmo- 
nious undulations  against  the  southern  sky.  All  else 
was  green.  There  was  no  other  view. 

The  paths  were  a  glittering  yellow  with  fallen  laurel 
leaves.  The  place  was  a  wilderness  of  laurels.  Valeria 
walked  hastily  through  one  that  led  down  to  the 
house.  An  old  woman  sat  on  the  step  twirling  her 
distaff.  She  smiled,  but  did  not  speak.  On  the 
ground  behind  the  house  was  a  confused  heap  of  frag- 
mentary sculpture.  There  were  Egyptian  heads,  filleted 
heads,  and  heads  ringed  all  over  with  short  curls,  one 
of  them  face  down.  A  pretty  marble  face  leaned 
against  the  cheek  of  a  gigantic  mask,  another  was 
hidden  on  a  draped  breast  where  the  folds  were  held 
by  a  brooch.  There  were  carven  coats  of  arms,  and 
broken  hands  and  feet.  One  of  the  steps  leading  to 
the  house  was  formed  of  milk-white  folds  of  Carrara 
over  a  colossal  shoulder.  The  house  was  not  large. 
The  owner  had  finished  the  grounds,  but  the  malaria 
had  discouraged  him  from  building  a  casino;  and 


126  BY  THE    TIBER. 

for  many  a  year  the  place  had  been  abandoned  to 
Marco  Bandini  and  his  family.  Here  Vittorio  had 
dreamed,  and  here  Felicita  had  died. 

When  Valeria  reached  the  upper  terrace  a  second 
time,  the  sun  was  at  the  horizon,  and  its  last  beams 
came  through  the  trees,  and  fell  in  large  splashes  of 
unradiant  orange  gold  on  to  the  darkening  ground. 
She  had  to  stoop  and  touch  the  leaves  it  fell  on  to 
make  sure  that  they  were  not  painted. 

As  she  stood  there  silent  in  that  charmed  solitude, 
thinking  that  the  place  and  the  hour  were  fitting  for 
some  shadowy  form  of  the  past  that  should  appear,  a 
slight  sound  made  her  turn,  and  —  spirits  of  immortal 
loveliness  !  —  it  was  no  antique  shade,  no  togaed  sen- 
ator, no  fiery  Marius,  no  Horace  leaning  against  a 
cypress  with  an  open,  twice-read  Homer  in  his  hand, 
but  such  a  creature  as  would  perhaps  have  subjected 
them  all.  A  girl  of  eighteen,  slim  and  graceful,  with 
a  heavy,  dishevelled  crown  of  black  hair,  brilliant 
dark  eyes,  red  lips  smiling  over  small,  milk-white 
teeth,  and  a  fresh  face  and  round  throat  of  rosy  white, 
with  a  delicate  richness  in  the  cheeks  where  a  dimple 
nestled. 

This  vision  stood  under  the  darkness  of  a  cypress- 
tree,  glowing  like  the  evening  star,  and  waited  to  be 
spoken  to. 

"  Come  to  me  if  you  are  human ! "  Valeria  ex- 
claimed. "  Whether  you  are  human  or  not,  come  to 
me!" 

The  girl  advanced  with  a  half-bashful,  half-confi- 
dent air,  laughing,  and  alternately  raising  and  drop- 
ping her  brilliant  eyes.  It  was  as  wonderful  as  if 
one  of  those  splashes  of  sunlight  had  taken  human 
form.  It  could  not  have  taken  a  brighter  shape,  nor 
a  prettier  simple  dress,  either,  than  the  white  camicia, 
green  skirt  and  corsets,  and  yellow  handkerchief. 
.  "  Speak !  What  are  you  ? "  Valeria  repeated,  look- 


WITH  MOTHER  NATURE.  127 

ing  with  delight  into  that  face  as  delicate  as  a  flower 
and  as  rich  as  a  fruit. 

The  girl  only  hung  her  head  and  laughed.  She 
was  as  simple  as  a  wildwood  creature,  yet  not  silly. 
She  laughed  from  the  sweet  joy  of  living,  as  a  brook 
laughs  that  runs  headlong  down  from  the  mountain, 
no  matter  where,  so  that  it  flows  and  dances. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  was  the  next  question. 

"  Kosa,"  said  the  girl,  finding  voice ;  and,  in  speak- 
ing, a  sweet,  faintly  smiling  seriousness  settled  upon 
her.  In  work  and  thought  she  could  be  earnest,  you 
saw,  when  the  time  for  work  and  thought  should 
come. 

"  Of  course  !  I  might  have  known  you  could  have 
no  other  name,"  Valeria  said.  "  What  is  your  mother's 
name  ? " 

"  It  was  Felicita.  But  she  is  dead."  She  did  not 
lose  her  smile  in  saying  it.  What  did  she  know  of 
death  ?  Her  mother's  last  sigh  had  swelled  the  tiny 
sails  of  her  newly  launched  life.  There  must  have 
been  a  smile  in  that  sigh. 

"  Is  the  man  at  the  gate  your  father  ? " 

"  Si,  signora." 

"  Have  you  brothers  and  sisters  ? " 

"  I  have  one  brother,  Vittorio."  She  spoke  with  an 
air  of  pride.  "  He  is  the  gardener  at  Villa  Mitella,  in 
Rome." 

"  Do  you  live  here  always  ? " 

"  I  live  here  all  winter  with  papa  and  Betta.  But 
in  the  summer  I  go  up  to  the  old  palace  and  stay 
with  Chiara.  I  once  had  a  fever  here,  and  now  papa 
will  not  let  me  stay." 

She  spoke  with  quiet  self-possession,  was  frank, 
clear-headed,  and  prompt. 

"  What  do  you  do  here  ? "  Valeria  asked,  unable  to 
remove  her  eyes  from  that  face,  which  took  her  obser- 
vation innocently,  and  was  not  disconcerted  by  it 


128  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  I  don't  ask  what  your  father  and  Betta  do,  but  what 
you  do." 

"  I  live  here,"  the  girl  replied  slowly,  not  seeming 
quite  clear  as  to  this  reply. 

Yes,  she  lived  there  as  a  peach  lives  on  the  bough, 
ripening  in  the  sun ;  as  a  rose  hangs  on  its  stem, 
breathing  out  odors,  and  feels  the  breeze  and  the  dew 
and  the  sun,  and  asks  no  questions. 

Valeria  recollected  having  read  that  Pliny  had 
mentioned  the  roses  of  Preneste  as  having  been  fa- 
mous among  the  ancients  for  their  fragrance.  It  was 
the  city  of  beautiful  roses,  he  said.  "  Your  name  is 
Eosa  Prenestina,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  My  name  is  Eosa  Bandini,"  the  girl  replied  with 
a  slight  surprise. 

Valeria  prepared  to  go  away.  "  When  do  you  go 
up  to  the  old  palace  ? "  she  asked,  leading  her  prize 
down  the  steps  with  her. 

"  In  May." 

The  two  walked  down  to  the  gate  together ;  and 
when  Valeria  looked  back  from  the  carriage  in  driv- 
ing away,  she  saw  Eosa  hanging  on  her  father's  arm, 
and  chattering  to  him  like  a  magpie. 

It  was  all  charming.  The  filthy  little  town  was 
set  in  an  atmosphere  of  beauty,  and  its  past  was  a 
record  of  beauty.  Cicero  and  Juvenal  and  Cato  and 
Pliny  and  Plutarch  and  Aristotle,  and  who  knows 
how  many  others,  had  praised  the  town  as  they  might 
have  praised  a  fair  woman.  Then  the  old  myth  of  its 
origin  was  so  pretty  !  Telemachus,  searching  for  his 
father,  was  told  by  the  gods  to  build  a  town  where  he 
should  see  men  dancing  crowned  with  leaves;  and, 
meeting  here  contadini  decorated  with  brandies,  he 
had  accepted  it  as  a  sign,  and  founded  the  city.  So 
out  of  the  dark  past  the  history  of  this  town  had 
sprung,  men  dancing  crowned  with  leaves ;  and  the 
fountain  of  their  laughter  had  never  run  dry.  She 


ROSA   PRENESTINA.  129 

had  heard  it  to-day  in  the  rose-white  throat  of  the 
Rosa  Prenestina. 

"  Well  ? "  asked  the  Signora  Maria  when  her  visitor 
returned. 

"  I  am  delighted.  I  shall  come  back  in  a  fortnight. 
You  must  give  me  that  room  looking  toward  the  east. 
And  I  have  a  room  in  the  old  palace  where  I  shall 
go  every  day." 

"  Brava  I  I  knew  you  would  like  it ! " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ROSA    PRENESTINA. 

ROSA  BANDINI  had  grown  up  in  solitude,  with 
no  playmates  but  her  father,  Vittorio,  and  old 
Betta,  except  that,  since  she  had  been  sent  up  to  the 
palace  in  the  summer,  she  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Chiara.  Her  father  had  never  allowed  her  to 
know  children,  and  did  not  now  allow  her  to  know 
girls  and  boys  of  her  own  age. 

"  Children,  especially  such  as  she  would  see  here, 
corrupt  each  other,"  he  said. 

He  and  Vittorio  had  taught  her  what  she  knew  of 
books,  to  read,  write,  and  make  accounts,  and  Chiara 
had  taught  her  housekeeping,  knitting,  weaving,  and 
lace-making.  Lace-making  was  her  chief  employ- 
ment. Everything  in  the  house  on  which  lace  could 
be  put  was  decorated  by  her  busy  fingers,  and  many 
a  yard  was  put  away  for  her  bridal  outfit  when  she 
should  marry.  The  most  solemn  hours  of  her  life 
were  spent  in  puzzling  out  a  new  pattern  with  her 
cushion  and  bobbins. 

It  will  be  seen  that  this  was  a  very  old-fashioned 
little  Rose. 


130'  BY  THE    TIBER, 

She  had,  however,  read  something  by  herself;  for 
the  owner  of  the  villa  had  been  there  for  a  part  of  one 
distant  autumn,  and  had  left  a  case  of  books,  chiefly 
history  and  poetry ;  and  these  she  found,  and  pored 
over,  especially  the  history  of  Palestrina.  She  had 
told  her  father  and  Vittorio  all  about  the  siege  of 
Casalinga,  that  was  so  bravely  defended  by  soldiers 
from  Preneste,  of  the  nuts  that  were  floated  down  on 
the  river  to  the  starving  inhabitants,  of  the  rape- 
seed  they  sowed  over  the  walls,  showing  that  they 
meant  to  hold  out  till  it  should  grow. 

They  let  her  talk,  and  said  many  a  Brava  !  to  en- 
courage her.  They  knew  that  she  had  not  many 
pleasures  or  interests.  But  she  never  knew  it.  Her 
joyfulness  and  sweetness  sprang  up  and  fell  about  her 
like  a  fountain,  and  all  the  world  looked  joyful  through 
it.  Neither  did  she  know  that  her  father  and  Vittorio 
were  bitter  with  the  world.  They  smiled  now  and 
then  for  her ;  and  if  they  were  never  merry,  why,  that 
was  their  way.  She  never  heard  them  complain  of 
anything.  Then  old  Betta  was  as  gay  as  a  cricket,  and 
cheerful  and  contented  about  everything. 

Kosa  had  been  to  the  old  palace  the  year  before, 
and  though  she  had  very  little  company  there,  and 
never  went  anywhere,  nor  saw  any  one,  except  in  the 
presence  of  Chiara,  the  custode,  who  was  a  friend  of 
her  father,  she  liked  the  wide  view,  and  to  wander 
through  the  deserted  rooms  and  garden,  and  down 
into  the  beautiful  church  of  Santa  Rosalia,  that  alone, 
of  all  the  place,  had  been  preserved  in  its  first  beauty. 
And  she  liked  to  go  about  with  the  tourists  who  came 
to  see  the  mosaic.  Several  times  Chiara  had  let  her 
open  the  door  of  the  room  for  them,  and  stand  while 
they  looked,  and  listen  to  their  strange,  harsh  lan- 
guages as  they  talked  to  each  other.  She  had  learned 
all  the  history  of  the  mosaic,  and  told  it  off  very 
proudly  to  these  curious  forastieri  This  was  her 


ROSA   PRENESTINA.  131 

festa.  And  they  all  praised  her,  and  gazed  at  her,  and 
spoke  of  her  to  each  other ;  and  sometimes  they  told 
her  that  she  was  beautiful.  She  knew  that  she  was 
beautiful,  she  had  heard  it  all  her  life,  and  it  was  one 
of  the  sources  of  her  happiness.  It  was  pleasant  to 
see  that  the  most  serious  face  smiled  when  it  looked 
at  her. 

The  previous  year  the  Danish  painter  had  come 
there,  arid  he,  too,  had  glanced  at  her  as  he  went  in 
and  out ;  and  he  was  so  unmistakably  good,  so  nearly 
an  angel,  as  both  Chiara  and  the  Signora  Maria  said, 
that  she  was  allowed  to  speak  to  him  now  and  then. 
He  usually  painted  in  the  Tempietto  when  the  weather 
was  fine ;  but  when  it  was  bad,  he  came  down  to  a 
room  next  that  of  Chiara,  and  she  could  see  him  at 
work ;  for  the  door  was  almost  always  open. 

Eosa  would  always  be  seated  at  such  times  at 
Chiara's  window,  with  her  lace-cushion  on  her  lap ; 
and  the  painter  would  glance  from  time  to  time  across 
his  easel  at  that  bright  face  in  the  gray  old  room, 
and  Rosa  would  glance  over  her  bobbins  at  the  fair- 
haired  Northerner  who  made  such  wonderful  pictures. 
And  if  by  chance  their  glances  encountered,  Rosa 
would  hang  her  head  and  laugh,  and  by  and  by  begin 
to  peep  up  again,  like  the  simple,  delicious  little  fool 
that  she  was. 

She  wondered  much  over  this  artist  with  his  magic 
pencil,  who  painted  all  the  rainbow  colors  of  the  cam- 
pagna,  the  mountains  and  the  skies.  He  could  make 
a  fine  picture  of  a  donkey  with  a  man  and  a  basket 
of  greens  on  his  back,  of  old  Peppina  with  her  bundle 
of  sticks,  of  Catarina  with  two  liens  hanging  heads 
downward  from  her  hand,  of  ragged  little  Tito  with 
his  round  face  and  saucy  smile,  of  the  women  washing 
at  the  fountain  with  their  skirts  turned  up,  and  a  wall 
of  ivy  for  a  background.  She  had  never  thought  these 
things  worth  a  second  glance,  yet  he  studied,  and 


132  BY  THE   TIBER. 

spent  days  over  them.  When  they  were  painted  she 
could  see  that  they  were  beautiful,  but  without  know- 
ing why,  unless  it  was  because  he  had  touched  them. 

Many  of  the  things  that  she  had  admired  and 
wondered  over,  the  Signor  Eduardo  cared  nothing 
for.  The  fine  dresses  of  some  of  the  ladies,  all  rib- 
bons and  little  crimped-up  flounces,  he  had  laughed 
at,  and  called  ugly ;  and  he  hardly  glanced  at  Seconda 
Dorelli's  coral  and  gold  chain,  and  large  gold  rings, 
though  they  were  so  splendid. 

"To  be  sure,"  thought  Rosa,  "he  seems  to  admire 
my  ear-rings."  But  when  she  had  motioned  to  re- 
move one  that  he  might  examine  it,  he  had  said  that 
it  was  not  necessary,  and  had  told  her  to  sit  still  while 
he  sketched  it  hanging  in  her  ear.  And  he  did  sketch 
it  very  perfectly,  and  the  profile  and  whole  head  with 
it.  It  was  rather  provoking  that  he  had  not  let  her 
know  what  he  was  going  to  do,  so  that  she  could  have 
smoothed  back  those  heavy  locks  of  hers  that  were 
always  dropping  over  her  eyes.  For  he  had  actually 
taken  them  all  as  they  were  in  disorder. 

"  No  matter,"  he  had  said, "  the  ear-ring  is  all  right." 
And  he  had  laughed. 

She  used  to  think  it  all  over  as  she  sat  in  Chiara's 
great  chamber  making  lace,  think  over  all  that  he 
said  and  did ;  and  she  found  herself  very  pleasantly 
employed. 

All  this  had  happened  the  summer  before.  The 
Dane  had  stayed  till  October,  and  had  then  gone  to 
Rome.  Rosa  cried  a  little  quietly  when  he  went 
away,  but  had  not  let  him  see  her  tears.  She  was 
rather  ashamed  of  crying  for  anything.  It  seemed 
childish.  So  she  tried  to  be  brave,  and  had  smiled 
when  he  said  "  Addio  "  to  her.  "  I  shall  come  back 
next  summer.  Will  you  be  glad  to  see  me,  Rosa  ? " 
he  had  said,  looking  at  her  in  a  way  that  had  made 
her  drop  her  eyes,  she  knew  not  why. 


ROSA  PRENESTINA.  133 

And  now  he  was  back  again,  and  she  at  the  palace, 
and  he  carne  and  went  just  as  he  had  the  year  before! 
It  was  just  the  same,  —  with  a  very  little  difference  ; 
and  the  difference  was  the  siynora  americana,  Ma- 
dama  Valeria. 

Eosa  was  very  fond  of  the  new  signora,  who  was 
most  kind  to  her;  but  she  was  curiosa  for  all  that. 
Most  forastieri  were  curiosi.  She  would  sometimes 
sit  and  look  off  toward  Eome,  or  to  the  eastern  moun- 
tains, or  to  the  sea,  for  hours,  and  never  seem  to  tire. 
And  she  looked  into  flowers,  and  examined  leaves,  and 
stopped  to  look  at  sun-rays  and  moon-rays  and  com- 
mon pebbles  ;  and  she  wanted  to  know  the  names  of 
them  all.  She  looked  at  the  stars,  too,  and  sometimes 
told  Rosa  the  names  of  them,  and  watched  at  the 
window  to  see  the  new  moon,  and  cried  out  when  the 
sunlight  had  gone  down  like  a  high  tide  and  left  that 
little  crescent  stranded,  just  as  if  there  never  were  a 
new  moon  before. 

To  Rosa  these  were  all  very  common  things,  pleas- 
ant enough,  certainly,  to  look  at  once  in  a  while ;  but 
to  look  at  them  every  day  was  very  queer. 

Sometimes  Madarna  and  the  Signor  Eduardo  had 
long  conversations  together  which  they  seemed  to 
like ;  and  though  they  spoke  Italian,  Rosa  did  not 
understand  one  half  they  said,  they  were  so  very 
learned.  Now  and  then,  while  they  talked,  the  Signor 
Eduardo  would  turn  and  see  Rosa's  serious,  puzzled 
face,  and  would  smile  and  say  something  to  her ;  and 
all  the  reply  she  made  was  a  laugh.  She  was  so 
simple  and  unthinking  that  she  laughed  at  nothiug, 
as  the  birds  sing,  as  the  fountain  runs  over. 

"Sangue  dolce!"  the  Dane  said  once,  looking  at 
her  with  a  tender  smile.  And,  indeed,  she  had  sweet 
blood  as  well  as  a  sweet  face. 

Perhaps,  as  the  days  of  that  summer  went  by, 
her  laugh  grew  less  light  and  empty  and  frequent 


134  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Sometimes  she  only  smiled.  But  she  was  herself  no 
more  aware  of  the  change  than  the  swinging  rose  is, 
when  a  heavy  dew-drop  falls  into  its  heart  and  stead- 
ies it  somewhat.  She  still  went  about  her  little 
duties,  and  the  small  routine  of  her  life.  If  she  was 
sometimes  rather  absent,  that  was  nothing.  She  had 
things  to  think  about.  Madama  Valeria  and  the 
Siguor  Eduardo  seemed  to  be  very  good  friends,  and 
Chiara  had  said  that  perhaps  they  would  one  day 
be  married.  She  was  thinking  of  that.  It  was  very 
interesting ;  and,  thinking  of  it,  she  sometimes  forgot 
to  laugh. 

It  was  not  strange  that  they  should  be  much  to- 
gether, talking,  and  taking  long  walks  in  the  cam- 
pagna  or  up  the  mountain.  They  liked  the  same 
things,  and  it  was  quite  natural,  quite  proper. 

"  They  are  going  out  now  to  walk,"  she  thought,  one 
day,  looking  after  them  with  a  sweet,  light  shadow  on 
her  face.  They  were  of  the  same  height,  for  Madama 
was  tall,  and  she  had  a  red  rose  in  her  bonnet,  and  a 
little  red  ruffle  at  the  bottom  of  her  dress,  and  a  great 
fan  covered  with  painted  Chinese  women,  and  black 
gloves  painted  with  little  red  and  gold  flowers.  The 
Signor  Eduardo  had  painted  them.  Rosa  did  not 
know  that  she  sighed,  looking  after  them.  She  was 
thinking  that  it  must  be  a  grand  thing  to  be  a  fine 
lady,  though  she  had  never  dreamed  of  being  one,  or 
wished  for  anything  so  silly.  She  was  content  to 
be  as  she  was,  with  her  blue-and-white  cotton  skirt, 
and  deep  blue  corset,  laced  over  a  white  camicia,  and 
a  green  handkerchief  folded  down  in  pleats  from  the 
back  of  her  neck,  and  tucked  into  the  high  bust  in 
front.  The  Signor  Eduardo  had  once  said  that  her 
face  above  that  green  and  blue  looked  like  a  pink 
Arethusa  growing  out  of  a  reedy  brook. 

The  two  whom  she  watched  went  upward  a  little 
to  the  long  green  road  that  leads  from  the  westward 
mountain-side  down  to  the  campagna. 


ROSA   PRENESTINA.  135 

"I  half  wish  that  I  had  asked  Rosa  to  come  with  us," 
Valeria  said.  "  It  seems  unkind  to  never  offer  her 
any  change.  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  when  her  pretty 
face  is  by,  your  talk  is  not  very  interesting.  I  don't 
blame  you.  I  merely  state  the  fact,  and  explain  why 
I  do  not  furnish  you  with  more  opportunities  to  gaze 
at  her.  I  doubt  if  so  much  silent  homage  be  good 
for  a  girl  who  will  presently  be  left  quite  alone.  One 
must  think  a  little  of  her  as  well  as  of  pleasing 
one's  self." 

She  had  been  thinking  rather  impatiently  of  late : 
"  This  man,  who  is  as  good  as  he  can  be,  and  has  not 
a  particle  of  vanity,  is  behaving  as  badly  as  if  he  were 
a  rascal.  When  he  goes  away  that  child  will  break 
her  heart." 

The  painter  hung  his  head  a  little,  and  was  silent. 
He  was  a  quiet,  reserved  man,  slightly  bashful,  and 
as  delicate  as  a  woman  ought  to  be.  He  did  not 
believe  that  Rosa  dreamed  of  loving  him  or  any  one. 
He  had  been  studying  her  face  unconsciously  while 
studying  the  problem  if  indeed  a  soul  would  ever 
float  on  that  sangue  dolce,  if  ever  she  would  be  any- 
thing but  a  flower. 

It  was  a  lovely  road,  the  hedges  and  walls  about 
it  overman  tied  with  vines  of  large  white  convolvuli, 
half  hidden  at  times  by  clumps  of  elder-trees,  sweet 
with  immense  clusters  of  flaky  white  blossoms.  The 
flowers  were  so  profuse  that  at  turnings  of  the  road 
they  seemed  to  have  smothered  it  quite. 

At  a  turn  they  came  upon  two  gentlemen, — a  small, 
slight  Greek  priest  in  his  black  robe  and  four-cor- 
nered berretta,  and  a  tall  professor  from  the  seminary. 
The  Professor  held  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  read  aloud 
as  they  walked,  reading  slowly,  like  a  boy  at  school. 
He  was  learning  Greek  of  the  other ;  and  every  Greek 
root,  as  he  drew  it  out,  was  perfumed  with  Italian 
flowers. 


136  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Hearing  the  steps  that  followed,  the  two  turned 
their  heads. 

"  It  is  a  peripatetic  school,"  the  Greek  said,  with  a 
singularly  sweet  smile  in  his  face,  that  was  as  pale  as 
a  pearl. 

"With  Aristotle  strained  through  Saint  Thomas 
Aquinas,"  added  the  Professor. 

"Accept  my  compliments  on  the  architecture  of 
your  Lyceum,"  Valeria  said ;  and  added,  "  Will  the 
Professor  Sardegna  be  at  liberty  to-morrow  ? " 

The  Professor  declared  himself  to  be  entirely  at  her 
disposition. 

Would  he  give  her  a  reading  of  Tasso  in  the  Bar- 
berini  garden  the  next  afternoon  ? 

The  Professor  would  call  to  escort  her  to  the  garden 
at  any  hour  she  might  name. 

"  At  four,  then."     And  they  separated. 

The  painter  and  Valeria  gathered  liowers,  —  little 
white  violets,  purple  bachelor's-buttons,  a  hundred 
wild  things  of  all  colors.  Now  and  then  one  of  them 
made  a  hasty  sketch  of  something  that  caught  their 
eyes  and  fancy.  They  visited  the  fountain  that  the 
Dane  had  painted,  Acqua  di  Pepe,  and  drank  of  its 
limpid  water,  noted  in  all  the  country  round.  Then 
they  turned  homeward,  and  went  up  to  the  old  palace 
again,  where  the  Dane  had  left  some  letters  that  must 
be  mailed  that  evening. 

Chiara,  seeing  them  return,  knew  what  was  wanted, 
and  sent  Eosa  down  with  the  letters,  to  spare  them 
the  stairs. 

Rosa  gave  the  letters  with  a  smile ;  but  there  was 
a  certain  modest  dignity  in  her  manner  which  did  not 
escape  either  of  them.  Her  face  was  perhaps  not 
quite  so  rosy  as  usual;  but  she  looked  at  them  calmly, 
and  answered  as  gently  as  ever.  With  all  her  sim- 
plicity, there  was  something  unapproachable  about 
her. 


COUNTRY  LIFE.  137 

"How  sober  you  are,  Eosa  mm/"  Valeria  said, 
"What  has  happened?" 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  the  girl  replied  with  quiet 
reserve ;  and  her  faint,  proud  smile  would  have  be- 
come a  queen. 

"  Fdicissima  sera,  Kosa !  "  said  the  Dane,  looking  at 
her  earnestly. 

She  replied  with  sweet  composure,  and  let  them  go. 

But  when  they  were  gone,  she  fled  up-stairs,  and 
out  into  the  green,  high-walled  garden  behind  the 
palace.  The  grass  grew  tall,  there  was  no  one  in 
sight.  She  ran  across  the  garden,  and  flung  herself 
down  beside  a  headless  statue  that  lay  there,  and,  hid- 
ing her  face  against  the  cold  marble  breast,  sobbed 
out  all  her  passion. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me  !  "  she 
sobbed,  beating  down  a  thought  that  tried  to  rise. 
"  It  must  be  an  urta  dei  nervi.  I  don't  know  what 
else."  And  she  buried  her  face  in  the  dewy  grass, 
and  strove  to  cool  her  throbbing  temples  against  the 
cold  marble.  And  again,  when  she  rose,  and  stole 
into  the  house  at  twilight,  she  protested  to  her  own 
heart,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  was  crying  so  for ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COUNTRY  LIFE. 

IT  was  a  various  company  that  met  at  the  Signora 
Maria's  supper-table  that  evening,  for  several 
new  visitors  had  arrived  in  the  afternoon.  At  the 
end  of  the  table  sat  the  Dane,  with  Valeria  below  the 
corner  at  his  right,  and  a  young  Swede  opposite  her. 
Next  the  Swede  sat  two  English  ladies,  who  were 


138  BY  THE   TIBER. 

making  the  journey  from  Eome  to  Genazzano  on 
foot ;  "shod  like  horses,"  said  the  Signora  Maria,  who 
marvelled  greatly  over  these  long  walks.  Next  to 
Valeria  sat  three  German  ladies. 

The  German  ladies  were  silent  and  modest,  and 
seemed  timid;  the  English  ladies  were  silent  and 
reserved,  and  seemed  severe ;  the  Swede  kept  up  an 
almost  whispered  conversation  in  Danish  with  the 
Signer  Eduardo.  There  was  an  air  of  constraint  over 
all.  One  of  the-  German  ladies,  having  swallowed 
Bomethiiig  the  wrong  way,  partly  because  of  embar- 
rassment, and  choking  a  little,  nearly  cried  with 
mortification. 

Clelia,  the  pretty  girl  who  waited  on  them,  kept 
glancing  about  with  bright  eyes  full  of  laughter 
at  these  queer  forastieri,  who  ate  together  without 
speaking  a  word.  The  Signora  Maria,  who  usually 
waited,  was  employed  on  some  momentous  dish  in 
the  kitchen. 

"What  a  pity  we  have  not  a  Frenchman  or  a 
Russian  here  to  make  up  the  seven  nations  ! "  Valeria 
said  to  the  Dane.  "  We  are  now  but  six." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  smilingly,  but  could  get  no  fur- 
ther, as  she  had  spoken  in  English,  which  he  did  not 
understand  well. 

The  silence  deadened.  The  Dane  exchanged  an 
amused  glance  with  the  waitress,  and  nodded  toward 
the  kitchen  door,  with  a  murmured,  "  Per  earita ! " 

Clelia  disappeared,  and  a  moment  later  entered 
the  Signora  Maria,  smiling  and  rubicund,  bearing  a 
great  open  dish,  which  had  evidently  been  taken  off 
her  mind  as  well  as  off  the  fire. 

"  Now  here  is  something  chic  !  "  she  called  out  in  a 
loud,  cheery  voice,  and  set  the  dish  down  beside  the 
Dane.  "  Help  yourself,  Eduardo  mio,  senza  compli- 
menti.  It  is  too  heavy  to  stand  holding.  Or  help  first 
Madama  Valeria,  if  you  wish."  And  she  patted  him 


COUNTRY  LIFE.  139 

on  the  shoulder,  repeating  with  great  good-will  her 
"  Eduardo  mio  !  " 

"  He  is  so  good  ! "  she  added,  addressing  the  com- 
pany. 

The  painter,  who  was  accustomed  to  these  compli- 
ments, took  no  notice  of  them  except  by  a  slight 
blush  and  smile. 

"  It  is  really  chic,  Signora  Maria,"  one  of  the  ladies 
said,  having  tasted  of  the  dish. 

It  was  home-made  macaroni  steeped  in  a  rich 
giblet  sauce,  and  garnished  with  little  gold-colored 
balls,  which  proved  to  be  the  yolks  of  the  number  of 
eggs  which  the  late  hen  would  have  laid  that  week  if 
hei;life  had  been  spared. 

"  Of  course  it  is  ! "  responded  the  landlady,  who 
was  not  inclined  to  hide  her  light  under  a  bushel ; 
and  she  immediately  described  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  prepared. 

She  laughed  and  talked;  sang  a  few  lines  of  a 
soldier's  song ;  filled  everybody's  tumbler  with  great 
splashes  of  red  wine ;  piled  their  plates  with  the  most 
embarrassing  mountains  of  food ;  asked  how  they 
liked  their  food,  and  told  them  what  other  de- 
cker ia  was  then  being  prepared  for  them  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  Madama  Valeria  says  that  my  agro  dolce  is  better 
than  they  make  in  Rome,  and  Madama  Valeria  is  a 
judge  of  everything,  from  an  agro  dolce  to  Dante's 
Inferno.  She  is  a  very  distinguished  lady,  and  has 
written  a  library  full  of  books.  She  is  immensely 
rich.  Her  father  was  a  Senator  of  the  American 
States.  And  when  she  came  here  she  brought  letters 
of  introduction  to  the  Mayor  and  the  Bishop  and  the 
Princess  —  " 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  cried  Valeria,  astounded  at  the 
gigantic  proportions  which  the  very  modest  story 
that  had  been  drawn  from  her  on  her  arrival  had 


140  BY  THE    TIBER. 

assumed  in  the  fervid  imagination  of  the  Signora 
Maria.  "  Where  did  you  get  all  this  wonderful  ro- 
mance ?  " 

"Everybody  says  it,"  the  landlady  replied  with 
great  dexterity. 

The  company  were  all  laughing.  The  ice  was 
broken.  They  regarded  with  a  smiling  wonder  this 
great  creature,  who  was  as  simple  as  a  child,  yet  had, 
at  need,  no  small  amount  of  subtlety  ;  this  woman  so 
generous  and  enthusiastic,  who  lost  her  head  with  a 
facility  only  equalled  by  the  facility  with  which  she 
regained  it. 

"  She  is  a  type ! "  murmured  one  of  the  ladies.  "  I 
could  listen  to  her  all  day."  , 

The  supper  ended,  they  all  gathered  about  a  table 
in  an  inner  chamber.  The  Signora  Maria  was  go- 
ing to  show  them  some  antiquities.  The  other 
tables  in  the  room  were  already  piled  with  antique 
vases,  lamps,  and  fragments ;  but  the  more  precious 
articles  were  locked  away  in  a  cabinet.  They 
consisted  chiefly  in  scarabei,  intagli,  and  ancient 
rings,  all  found  in  the  plain  about  Palestrina,  where 
the  territory  is  probably  as  rich  as  any  in  Italy. 
For  not  only  did  the  beautiful  natural  position  of 
ancient  Preneste  invite  the  rich  to  build  their  vil- 
las there,  but  the  supreme  reputation  and  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Temple  of  Fortune,  which  covered  all  the 
site  of  the  present  town,  drew  worshippers  and  tribute. 
Cicero  bears  testimony  to  the  splendors  of  this  tem- 
ple, and  the  few  remains  left  of  it  confirm  his  word. 
Pliny  praises  the  roses  of  Preneste  ;  Cato,  its  walnuts ; 
Martial,  its  wines  and  the  fertility  of  its  soil ;  Livy 
says  that  it  had  a  territory  of  twenty  miles  by  twenty- 
five,  and  owned  eight  cities  ;  and  it  was  so  sacred  that 
those  who  fled  to  the  shelter  of  its  temple  were  safe 
from  Roman  justice  and  vengeance. 

All  this  gave  an  enchanting  value  to  these  precious 


COUNTRY  LIFE.  141 

little  fragments  that  had  so  long  been  hidden  in  the 
earth,  and  had  now  come  to  light  with  all  their  mem- 
ories about  them.  Some  had  been  found  by  con- 
tadini,  and  sold  to  the  Signora  Maria's  brother,  who 
understood  these  things,  and  others  had  been  taken 
from  the  soil  in  their  own  vineyards. 

When  the  company  went  away,  Clelia  and  the  old 
servant,  Felicetta,  came  in  and  played  Morra  with 
the  Signora  Maria  for  a  tumbler  of  wine,  and  some 
cherries  that  were  left.  The  three  hands  were  thrust 
vigorously  out,  and  each  seized  her  gains  eagerly,  that 
the  others  might  riot  rob  her,  the  padrona  cheating 
frankly  now  and  then. 

Tired  and  contented,  Valeria  went  down-stairs, 
accompanied  by  Clelia,  bearing  a  long  brass  lamp, 
crossed  the  piazzetta,  shut  herself  into  her  room,  arid, 
extinguishing  the  candle,  seated  herself  by  the  open 
window. 

The  mountain  rose  steeply  at  her  left,  lifting  the 
horizon  half-way  to  the  zenith.  On  its  side  the 
Cappuccini  church  and  convent  nestled  into  a  grove. 
Close  to  her  window  was  the  convent  of  the  Sepolte 
Vite,  as  silent  as  the  grave,  not  only  now  by  night, 
but  when  the  sun  shone  on  its  mysterious  walls, 
wherein  every  face  is  veiled  forever  from  human 
sight. 

The  velvety  dusk  was  sweet  with  the  perfume  of 
elder-blossoms ;  a  fountain  dropped  with  a  watery 
whisper  down  by  the  street-side;  and  through  the 
immensity  of  silence  stretching  off  eastward  toward 
the  mountains,  came  the  liquid  notes  of  a  lone  bird 
that  sang  as  though  it  spoke.  Every  night  that 
plaintive  nightingale  sang  in  the  silence  between  the 
Cappuccini  and  the  Sepolte  Vite. 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  in  Italy ! "  Valeria  thought,  clos- 
ing her  window  against  the  night  air. 

And  again  the  next  day  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  be 


142  BY  THE   TIBER. 

in  Italy ! "  when  she  sat  in  the  pleasant  garden  of  the 
Barberini  palace,  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  with 
the  landscape  spread  out  in  sunshine  from  under  the 
dark  roof  of  ilex-trees  over  her  head,  and  listened  to 
Professor  Sardegna  reading  Tasso.  As  she  listened, 
the  view  changed  to  the  garden  of  Armida,  the  mar- 
ble shapes  about  breathed,  and  the  misty  sea-line  in 
that  great  mountain  hollow  at  the  south  drew  nearer, 
and  rippled  into  sight. 

"  D'  incontro  fe  il  mare  ;  e  di  canuto  flutto 
Vedi  spumati  i  suoi  cerulei  cam  pi." 

"Will  you  take  a  walk?"  the  Professor  asked, 
closing  the  book. 

They  wandered  down  into  the  campagna,  meeting 
the  contadini  coming  up  from  their  work  to  sleep  in 
the  city.  There  were  whole  families,  from  grand- 
fathers to  babies,  with  laden  donkeys,  and  black  pigs 
that  skipped  like  goats. 

"  Nothing  would  induce  them  to  sleep  in  the  cam- 
pagna," the  Professor  said.  "  They  fear  the  malaria, 
and  perhaps  they  fear  each  other ;  for  those  cabins  in 
the  plain  do  not  close  like  a  city  house." 

These  contadini  have  a  character  which  their  class 
in  no  other  country  possess.  It  cannot  be  despised, 
and  disgust  is  not  the  feeling  that  it  inspires.  If  you 
do  not  look  at  them  with  compassion,  and  sometimes 
with  admiration,  you  pay  them  the  compliment  of 
your  hatred,  which  they  do  not  deserve.  Perhaps, 
though,  they  are  more  likely  to  inspire  each  and  all 
of  these  feelings  in  turn.  The  only  sentiment  which 
they  can  never  awaken  is  respect. 

Those  souls  are  like  the  soil  underneath  their  vine- 
yards and  olive-orchards,  which  is  sown  through  with 
ruined  glories.  The  roots  of  a  plant  or  tree  may  clasp 
a  delicate  marble  hand  down  in  the  dark,  or  slip  over 
the  long,  chiselled  folds  of  a  Carrara  toga,  or  grow 


COUNTRY  LIFE,  143 

across  a  smooth  cheek  that  the  sun  has  not  seen  for 
centuries,  or  entangle  and  bear  downward  a  scarabeo 
or  intaglio  that  a  princess  might  wear  and  prize. 
Fragments  of  Christianity  and  Paganism  lie  jumbled 
together,  the  balls  of  Jove  Serapis  rolled  against  the 
tliornless  roses  of  Saint  Francis.  So  in  these  minds, 
where  you  surprise  exquisite  bits^of  knowledge  in  the 
midst  of  ignorance,  delicate  traits  of  culture  in  rough- 
ness, and  of  beauty  in  ugliness.  You  see  a  rich  pink 
rose,  all  dewy  with  freshness,  in  a  battered  hat ;  you 
receive  an  elegant  salutation  from  a  tattered  clown ; 
your  servant  pays  you  compliments  which  you  would 
like  to  translate  into  your  own  language  for  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  a  rough-shod,  leather-legginged  fellow  walks 
backward  half  the  length  of  a  church  in  which  is  ex- 
posed the  Sacrament.  Who  told  him  that  he  must 
not  turn  his  back  upon  the  king  ? 

You  cannot  teach  them.  Their  ignorance  is  so 
systematized  as  to  have  become  a  science,  and  your 
new  facts  have  no  place  there.  They  would  be  like 
new  wine  in  old  bottles ;  and  they  know  that  their 
bottles  would  burst.  They  are  civil  to  your  face, 
maybe,  but  they  laugh  when  you  have  turned  away. 
Their  easy,  amused  scorn  is  as  lofty  as  the  scorn  of  a 
philosopher  for  a  fool.  The  wisest  and  most  philan- 
thropic stranger  who  would  instruct  them  would  seem 
to  them  ridiculous.  They  know  things  which  you  do 
not  know,  therefore  they  consider  themselves  better 
informed.  Their  habits,  as  well  as  their  faith,  are 
founded  upon  a  rock.  They  live  in  the  midst  of  pet- 
rified customs,  and  your  customs  which  differ  from 
them  are  as  laughable  in  their  eyes  as  you  would  be 
if  you  walked  on  your  hands  instead  of  your  feet. 

They  do  not  want  your  tools,  your  machines,  nor 
your  books.  Their  princes  do  not  offer  them  these 
things,  therefore  they  are  worthless.  What  do  you 
foreigners  know  of  Italy  or  of  them?  The  only 


144  BY  THE   TIBER. 

respectable  thing  about  your  interference  is  your 
money.  They  are  content  to  turn  over  the  earth  as 
their  fathers  did  before  them;  and  all  the  mathe- 
matics they  want  is  in  their  ten  fingers. 

They  gather  bunches  of  little  green  apples  no  larger 
than  cherries,  and  almonds  that  have  only  a  soft 
milky  kernel,  and  peaches  like  green  rocks  ;  and  their 
market  is  filled  witn  this  trash,  because  they  will  not 
sacrifice  the  certain  soldo  of  to-day  for  the  hope  of 
three  soldi  to-morrow.  It  is  useless  for  you  to  urge 
them  to  cultivate  their  fruit,  and  make  it  at  least  as 
fine  as  that  of  Northern  countries.  The  princes  culti- 
vate fruit  in  their  gardens  because  they  are  princes ; 
for  them,  they  take  what  the  trees  give ;  and  what 
they  cannot  sell,  the  pigs  will  eat. 

You  can  do  nothing  with  them.  Only  when  the 
rich  and  the  powerful  shall  interest  themselves  in 
agriculture,  will  Italian  produce  equal  that  of  Northern 
lands  ;  and  only  when  the  prince  tries  to  instruct  the 
contadino  will  he  consent  to  learn. 

The  superstition  with  which  these  poor  people  are 
so  often  reproached  is  scarcely  a  misfortune.  That 
love  of  the  marvellous  has  done  in  them  something  of 
the  work  which  knowledge  does  for  the  learned.  It 
has  kept  their  souls  above  the  earth  on  which  their 
feet  tread,  and  it  has  kept  a  certain  freshness  in  their 
hearts.  If  great  thoughts  do  not  expand  the  mind,  it 
is  better  that  it  should  be  inflated  by  illusions  than 
to  collapse.  Moreover,  superstition,  the  Scylla  of  ig- 
norance, is  better  than  scepticism,  the  Charybdis  of 
learning.  To  superstition  sublime  action  is  possible  ; 
but  who  would  expect  heroism  from  incredulity  ? 

"Madama  is  silent,"  the  Professor  remarked,  as 
Valeria  walked  along,  buried  in  thought. 

"Pardon  me!  I  was  thinking  how  much  Father 
Gioacchino  Ventura  might  have  done  for  the  glory  of 
God  and  of  Italy,  if  he  had  been  permitted ;  and  how 


COUNTRY  LIFE.  145 

much  those  two  noble  books  of  his,  the  Donna  Catto- 
lica  and  the  Donna  Cristiana,  might  yet  do,  if  they 
were  only  read." 

"  He  died  in  France,"  the  Professor  said. 

"  Yes  ;  in  exile  ! "  was  the  reply.  "  When  I  had 
read  his  books,  I  went  in  search  of  him,  as  on  a  pil- 
grimage ;  and  when  they  told  me  that  he  was  dead,  I 
had  such  a  sense  of  loss  as  few  deaths  could  cause  me." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  monument  in  Sant'  Andrea 
della  Valle  ? "  the  Professor  asked. 

"  Yes.  His  dust  was  brought  back  and  laid  with 
all  honor  under  the  pavement,  when  the  troublesome 
immortal  spark  was  out  of  it ;  and  his  marble  likeness 
was  set  up,  as  if  preaching,  when  his  voice  was  silenced 
forever.  It  is  not  Jerusalem  alone  which  has  stoned 
the  prophets,  and  killed  them  that  were  sent  unto  her." 

There  was  silence  again,  neither  wishing  to  pursue 
an  unpleasant  subject. 

Then  the  Professor  pointed  out  a  spot  where,  a  few 
years  before,  a  contadino  had  come  upon  an  ancient 
sarcophagus  in  digging  a  trench  on  his  land.  Hoping 
to  find  a  treasure  in  it,  he  carefully  removed  all  the 
earth,  and,  without  calling  help,  managed  to  lift  the 
cover.  Within  lay  the  form  of  a  woman,  distinct  in 
shape,  though  quite  dark  in  color.  On  seeing  this 
awful  shadow  out  of  the  past,  the  man  fainted.  When 
he  regained  consciousness,  and  had  called  assistance, 
the  figure  had  quite  fallen  to  dust. 

They  came  to  a  little  wayside  chapel  where  some 
boys  were  sweeping  the  floor,  and  putting  up  flowers 
before  a  picture  of  the  Madonna,  in  preparation  for 
somefesta. 

Farther  on,  where  the  falling  bank  at  the  roadside 
had  disclosed  a  piece  of  ancient  wall,  the  Professor 
picked  up  a  pointed  bone  arrow-head,  and  Valeria  an 
ancient  silver  coin  of  Greece. 

They  stopped  on  a  little  bridge  over  a  ravine  to 
10 


146  BY  THE    TIBER. 

look  down  at  the  tree-tops,  and  to  see  the  low  sun- 
shine move  on  the  parapet.  It  moved  backward  with 
a  slow  strength  as  the  sun  went  down,  but  trembled 
in  moving.  The  sunshine  always  trembles  as  it  moves. 
Is  it  because  the  heart  of  the  earth  beats  hard,  or  is 
it  the  heart  of  the  sun  ? 

The  golden  air  of  sunset  had  grown  silver,  then 
taken  a  delicats  shade  of  violet ;  and  a  star  was  visible 
when  they  reached  the  city  gate  again.  It  was  very 
lovely. 

" '  How  good  is  our  life,  the  mere  living,' "  thought 
Valeria,  "  especially  when  one  is  in  Italy  and  in  the 
country !" 

But,  pleasant  as  such  hours  were,  they  did  not  equal 
the  long  days  when  she  was  shut  into  that  great  gray 
room  of  the  old  palace,  where  the  only  furniture  was  a 
chair  and  a  table  drawn  up  before  the  window.  There 
her  fancies  had  elbow-room  ;  and  though,  when  she 
seated  herself,  pen  in  hand,  and  waited  for  the  pro- 
cession of  her  story  to  march  out  through  that  gate 
of  expression  that  is  so  small,  so  small !  there  was 
ever  a  confusion  like  that  of  any  public  procession, 
—  now  a  poor  little  fancy  gets  its  wings  crushed  by 
some  hobnailed  common-place  that  will  come  out, 
now  "  a  thought  stops  the  way  ! "  and  has  to  be  set 
down  on  its  own  slip  of  paper  outside,  and  a  general 
bustle  of  many-colored  ideas,  —  it  was  high  fcsta  for 
all  that,  and  a  most  pleasant  trouble.  A  i'ew  persons 
who  had  put  their  heads  into  this  studio  found  it  very 
bare ;  but  Valeria  was  to  herself  like  the  old  woman 
who  lived  in  a  shoe. 

"  I  like  large,  bare  rooms,"  the  Dane  said,  "  if  only 
they  are  lofty  and  well-proportioned,  and  have  a  good 
view  from  the  windows.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  small  spaces  make  small  talk.  When  I  go  into 
a  room  so  crowded  with  furniture  that  you  come  out 
with  your  knees  and  elbows  black  and  blue  with 
bruises,  I  never  expect  to  hear  any  thing  but  scandal" 


COUNTRY  LIFE.  147 

In  company  with  two  or  three  other  visitors  in 
Palestrina,  they  went  on  little  excursions  to  the  neigh- 
boring towns,  to  Cave  and  Genazzano,  to  Rocca  di 
Cave  and  Zagarolo.  It  was  all  a  dream  of  delight. 
Multitudinous  flowers,  gray  rocks  and  precipices,  pic- 
turesque old  palaces,  mountains  as  hlue  as  lapis-lazuli, 
golden  wheat-fields  and  dark-green  vineyards,  all  na- 
ture's cornucopia  poured  out  on  the  landscape,  made 
of  life  something  ideal.  And  delight  was  business 
and  beauty  was  food. 

In  all  these  excursions  Rosa  Bandini  accompanied 
her  new  friend ;  but  the  Dane  was  too  busy  to  go. 
He  had  to  finish  a  large  picture,  and  many  sketches, 
and  he  was  going  to  Venice,  where  he  would  remain 
several  months,  then  return  to  Rome  in  the  spring. 
After  another  year  and  a  half  he  would  go  back  to 
Denmark,  and  he  was  laying  up  Southern  sunshine  to 
last  him  through  many  a  Northern  winter,  perhaps 
through  all  the  winters  of  his  life. 

He  was  so  busy  as  almost  to  have  given  up  his 
walks  with  Valeria ;  but  they  talked  together  at  the 
table  and  after  supper.  Sometimes  she  wondered  if 
he  had  any  loverlike  inclination  toward  Rosa,  and  if, 
supposing  he  had,  he  would  be  willing  to  yield  to  it, 
and  marry  a  little  blossom  of  a  rustic,  who  went  in 
petticoat  and  corsets,  and  with  a  handkerchief,  if  she 
wore  anything,  on  her  head. 

She  tried  him  one  day  with  a  different  costume, 
when  she  was  just  setting  out  on  some  excursion  with 
Rosa.  She  had  snatched  off  the  girl's  clean  white 
apron  and  thrown  it  aside,  draped  a  white  zephyr 
shawl  around  her  shoulders  and  fastened  it  with  a 
pink  rose,  and  caught  a  black  lace  veil  to  her  thick  hair 
with  a  gilt  spear.  The  dark-blue  skirt  and  little  high- 
heeled  boots  were  all  that  could  be  desired ;  and^  no 
lady  could  have  been  more  prettily  dressed.  Few 
ladies  could  have  so  well  become  their  dress  as  Kosa 


148  BY  THE   TIBER. 

did,  standing  there  under  the  gray  doorway  leading 
out  into  the  Tempietto,  only  the  halo  of  a  smile  about 
her  lips,  and  her  dark  eyes  looking  earnestly  out  from 
under  her  drooping  brows  at  the  painter.  She  did  not 
laugh.  She  looked  out  at  him  from  the  shadowed 
depths  of  her  heart  to  see  if  he,  a  gentleman,  thought 
that  she  could  be  a  lady. 

His  eyes  were  caught  by  that  vision,  as  in  a  net. 
He  drew  one  quick  little  breath,  and  smiled,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  person  who  bore  being  stared 
at  so  nobly  ? "  Valeria  said  to  him  in  English.  "  A 
marble  statue  could  not  take  admiration  more  tran- 
quilly. See  how  well  the  pink  rose  becomes  her  ! 
And  pink  is  a  trying  color.  Is  it  not  a  pity  that  such 
a  creature  should  marry  a  common  fellow,  who  will 
perhaps  beat  her  ?  " 

He  murmured  some  unintelligible  word,  and  dropped 
his  eyes.  He  had  a  wonderful  faculty  for  holding  his 
tongue. 

Rosa  looked  at  him  steadily  with  her  fathomless, 
melancholy  eyes,  her  bearing  full  of  a  proud  simpli- 
city, then  turned  away  without  a  word,  and  went 
down-stairs. 

It  was  like  trying  to  bring  the  equator  and  the  tropic 
of  Cancer  together ! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"SWEET  HOME." 

ONE  day,  late  in  the  summer,  Valeria  received  a 
letter  from  Miss  Chaplin,  who  was  yet  in  Rome, 
but  about  to  set  out  for  Paris,  on  her  way  to  America 
with  Mrs.  Gray. 


"SWEET  HOME."  149 

She  wrote  that  Miss  Cromo  had  taken  an  apart- 
ment, and  having  moved  her  effects  into  it,  without 
arranging  them,  had  gone  away  for  a  short  villegrjiatura. 
In  October  she  would  return  and  put  the  house  in 
order. 

"There  is  a  vacant  apartment  over  hers,"  Miss 
Chaplin  wrote, "  and  I  thought  of  you  at  once  when  I 
saw  it,  though  I  thought  best  not  to  say  anything 
then.  I  only  glanced  at  it  when  I  went  with  Miss 
Cromo,  who  looked  at  the  whole  house.  But  I  pro- 
cured the  keys,  and  went  alone  the  next  day,  in  order 
to  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  spoke  to  the  man  having 
charge  of  it,  and  he  will  let  the  apartment  for  a  rea- 
sonable price,  and  keep  it  till  he  hears  from  you." 

Then  followed  a  description. 

We  have  already  described  Villa  Mitella,  and  have 
mentioned  the  casuccia  which  was  included  in  its 
southern  wall.  It  was  this  house  to  which  Miss 
Chaplin  referred ;  and  it  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  en- 
closed in  a  world  of  walls.  For  not  only  the  villa 
wall,  in  which  more  than  half  its  depth  was  set, 
stretched  at  either  end  of  it  along  the  Via  Nero,  but 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  was  also  walled-in  gar- 
dens for  some  distance  up  and  down.  Downward 
there  was  nothing  but  walls,  Via  Nero  making  a  sud- 
den turn  around  the  corner  of  the  villa,  and  passing 
by  the  entrance  to  the  gardener's  house  at  the  back 
of  the  grounds.  Up  the  street  houses  were  visible  at 
a  short  distance. 

The  house  was  long  and  narrow,  the  side  on  the 
street ;  and  opposite  the  middle  of  it,  a  second  street, 
Via  Claudia,  came  down  a  slight  rise  into  Via  Nero. 
Quite  near  one  end  of  the  casuccia,  almost  as  though  it 
were  a  continuation  of  Via  Claudia,  an  arched  opening 
had  been  cut,  and  finished  with  a  gate  into  the  garden. 
This  gate  was  always  kept  jealously  closed,  and  had 
a  deep  recess  both  inside  and  on  the  street. 


150  BY  THE    TIBER. 

As  is  common  with  these  city  gardens  in  Italy,  the 
land  inside  the  wall  was  much  higher  than  the  street ; 
so  that  the  gateway  had  a  long  stair  inside,  and  the 
earth  was  almost  half-way  up  the  rooms  of  Miss  Cro- 
mo's  apartment.  The  wall,  that  looked  like  a  fortress 
on  the  outside,  was  on  the  inside  scarcely  over  the 
tops  of  the  rose-bushes. 

The  casuccia  had  a  double  roof,  and  only  two  stories 
above  the  ground-floor.  The  lower  was  reached  by  a 
door  at  the  end  looking  up  the  street,  and  an  inside 
stair ;  the  upper  had  an  outside  stair  at  the  opposite 
end.  Both  apartments  had  windows  on  the  street 
and  one  window  at  the  end  opposite  the  door.  The 
upper  one  alone  looked  into  the  garden.  This  was 
by  an  arched  window  that  had  once  lighted  a  stairway 
now  closed,  and  it  looked  out  over  the  inner  steps  of 
the  gate,  through  the  shrubs  to  Vittorio's  house,  and 
over  a  paradise  of  flowers  and  fountains  to  the  op- 
posite wall  of  the  garden,  which  hid  all  the  world 
beyond,  except  a  blue  mountain-top. 

"  Shall  I  have  that  window  looking  into  the  gar- 
den closed  up  ? "  the  Prince's  major-domo  asked  him. 
"  I  don't  think  that  the  Countess  will  like  it." 

"What  harm  will  it  do  ?  "  the  Prince  replied,  rather 
impatiently.  He  was  none  too  well  pleased  with  his 
daughter,  and  very  willing  to  oppose  her  wishes,  when 
he  did  not  understand  perfectly  the  reasons  for  them. 
"  To  close  it  would  be  to  darken  a  room.  If  the  lady 
likes  to  look  into  the  garden,  she  is  welcome  to.  And 
if  she  would  like  to  have  some  flowers,  tell  Vittorio 
to  give  her  as  many  as  she  wants." 

Valeria  had  already  been  to  Rome,  and  had  taken 
the  apartment  on  a  long  lease.  While  talking  with 
the  inajor-domo  about  it  in  the  porter's  room  of  the 
villa,  a  quiet-looking  gentleman  whom  she  had  found 
there,  after  listening  awhile,  had  asked  her  if  there 
were  any  repairs  that  she  would  like  to  have  made  in 


"SWEET  HOME."  151 

the  house.  She  divined  at  once  that  he  was  the  owner, 
but  chose  not  to  know  visibly. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  there  may  be  something  want- 
ing, sir,"  she  said  ;  "  but  the  apartment  pleases  me  so 
much  that  I  have  not,  as  yet,  seen  any  defects." 

"  Whenever  you  do,"  the  Prince  said,  smiling  slight- 
ly, "  tell  my  major-domo,  and  he  will  do  whatever  may 
be  necessary." 

Valeria  courtesied,  and  became  aware  to  whom  she 
was  speaking.  The  Prince  made  a  very  magnificent 
bow,  and  retired. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  object  to  being  in  the 
house  with  Miss  Cromo,"  Miss  Chaplin  said.  "  Other- 
wise I  thought  the  place  would  suit  you.  It  seems 
so  retired,  yet  is  really  central." 

"  Oh !  I  do  not  mind  Miss  Cromo,"  Valeria  replied, 
"  We  need  not  disturb  each  other." 

So  the  bargain  was  made,  and  she  went  back  to 
stay  another  week  in  Palestrina,  and  finish  the  last 
chapter  of  her  book. 

Oh  that  first  book!  written  with  what  pleasure, 
as  if  one  were  singing,  and  with  what  pain  that  we 
can  so  little  express  what  we  would  write!  How 
confident  we  are  while  writing,  how  sure  to  please  ! 
Then,  when  it  is  out  of  our  hands,  past  recall  and  past 
mending,  how  all  our  pleasure  and  confidence  seem 
to  have  been  an  illusion !  The  faults  we  saw  grow 
like  evening  shadows;  the  merits  we  fancied  were 
there  diminish  and  disappear.  We  had  imagined 
that  we  had  something  to  say  to  the  world,  and,  hav- 
ing spoken,  we  shrink  at  our  own  presumption,  and 
would  fain  hide  ourselves.  How  can  we  hope  that 
an  echo  will  come  back  to  us ! 

The  book  was  finished  and  sent,  however.  She 
tore  it  out  of  her  own  hands,  that  would  fain  have 
written  it  all  over  again,  and  tried  to  put  it  out  of  her 
mind  as  well. 


152  BY  THE   TIBER. 

There  were  a  few  days  left  to  revisit  some  of  the 
pleasant  summer  haunts  :  one  more  long  walk  through 
a  ripe  wheat-field  that  stirred  in  golden  waves  far 
overhead;  one  more  loitering  under  a  deep-shad- 
owed fig-tree  to  see  which  fig  had  the  golden  honey- 
drop  oozing  from  its  tip  that  sagged  heavy  with 
sweetness;  one  more  climb  to  the  wild  little  moun- 
tain-top hamlet,  with  its  quiet  church  lighted  up 
more  by  Pietro  da  Cortona's  picture  than  even  by 
the  airy  upper  light  of  the  sun,  and  a  last  long  breath 
of  that  mountain-air,  which  inebriates  like  the  wine 
of  the  gods,  sending  the  vigor  of  early  youth  along 
the  limbs,  and  a  gladness  as  of  immortal  childhood 
through  the  heart,  almost  lifting  the  flesh  off  the  soul ; 
one  more  hour  with  Tasso  in  the  dense  warm  air 
under  the  ilex  boughs  of  the  Barberini  garden,  with 
the  landscape  swimming  in  mists,  and  the  honeyed 
breath  of  flowers  and  fragrant  laurel  creeping  around 
the  gray  old  masks  and  statues,  and  through  the  sun- 
streaked  gloom.  And  at  last  there  was  but  one  even- 
ing left 

They  went  over,  a  half  dozen  of  them,  to  spend  it 
at  the  Generale,  a  villa  just  outside  the  eastern  gate 
of  the  city.  It  was  a  modern  house  of  almost  palatial 
size,  built  upon  solid  ancient  foundations,  and  sur- 
rounded by  gardens  and  vineyards.  The  house  was 
untenanted,  its  owners,  two  young  brothers  scarcely 
over  twenty,  living  in  the  Piazza  of  the  town ;  but 
dances  and  dinners  were  often  given  in  its  large  halls, 
and  there  were  little  garden-parties  every  afternoon 
toward  sunset.  The  usual  place  of  reception  was  the 
cellar,  which  opened  out  by  two  great  doors  even  with 
the  garden.  Inside,  two  large  rooms  were  divided 
and  supported  by  fine  stone  arches,  which  had  the 
beauty  of  strength  and  proportion,  if  not  of  finish. 
Hogsheads  of  wine  lay  around  the  dark  walls,  and 
extended  into  the  black  grottos  that  reached  far  be- 


"SWEET  HOME."  153 

yond  the  house,  under  a  street  and  into  the  mountain. 
In  the  circle  of  light  about  the  open  door  was  a  table 
•with  chairs.  One  of  the  young  men  filled  a  decanter 
of  sunny  white  wine  from  a  hogshead  near  by,  the 
other  went  farther  back  into  the  grotto  and  drew  a 
decanter  of  red  wine.  No  one  was  allowed  to  leave 
their  grounds  without  tasting  of  their  wine. 

Outside  the  sun  was  setting,  making  the  grape- 
leaves  ruddy,  and  blushing  along  the  thickly  set 
bunches  of  white  grapes,  riot  yet  ripe,  till  here  and 
there  one  shone  like  a  carbuncle.  There  were  roses 
about,  and  lavender.  There  was  a  group  of  contadine 
outside  picking  the  leaves  from  mulberry  boughs  to 
feed  the  silkworms.  The  deep  blue  mountain  chain 
flushed  to  a  red-purple,  and  the  distant  silvery  ones 
became  rose-colored.  The  sky  was  as  clear  as  a  crys- 
tal, and  there  was  a  moon  three  days  old  in  it,  and 
soon  there  would  be  a  star. 

The  little  company  sat  inside  the  cellar-door,  but 
looking  out,  themselves  a  picture  without  their  know- 
ing it.  They  talked,  laughed,  and  sipped  the  cool 
wine  that  was  the  essence  of  just  such  days  as  that 
in  a  vanished  year.  There  was  the  Signor  Eduardo, 
the  Professor,  two  or  three  young  ladies,  Rosa,  and 
Valeria. 

When  the  twilight  fell,  they  went  out  into  the  gar- 
den, and  one  of  their  hosts  brought  a  mandolin,  and 
sang  to  it.  He  was  a  laughing  young  Romeo  with 
a  sweet  voice,  and  years  of  romantic  adventure  before 
him.  As  he  sang,  the  Dane  turned  -his  eyes  upon 
Rosa,  who  sat  with  hers  drooping.  It  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him  to  wonder  where  all  her  laughter  had 
flown.  He  could  not  recollect  when  he  had  heard  her 
laugh.  And  was  it  possible  that  she  was  proud  !  If 
it  had  been  any  one  else  sitting  with  those  folded 
hands  and  lowered  lids,  he  would  have  said  that  she 
was  proud-looking.  But  when  some  one  touched  and 


154  BY  THE   TIBER. 

spoke  to  her,  the  childlike  smile  and  simple  air  re- 
turned. 

Then  her  eyes  wandered,  looking  at  the  air,  seem- 
ing half  to  seek  and  half  to  avoid  some  object,  till 
they  settled  and  dwelt  on  the  handsome  singer. 

Young  Cesare  sat  on  the  corner  of  a  beautiful  an- 
cient marble  sarcophagus  that  was  filled  with  earth 
and  bright  with  pink  and  white  petunias.  His  moist 
dark  hair  escaped  in  waves  from  under  a  soft  gray 
hat  with  a  green  and  gray  feather  in  it,  his  dark  eyes 
sparkled,  his  slight  form  was  thrown  into  a  grace- 
ful attitude  as  he  played  the  mandolin  and  sang  of 
love. 

"  Confound  him  !  how  handsome  he  is  ! "  the  painter 
thought,  and  felt  himself  old,  felt  himself  ugly,  too, 
with  his  blond  hair  and  blue  eyes,  that  lacked  that 
Southern  fire.  "  But  his  family  would  not  let  him 
marry  her.  They  want  more  money  than  she  will 
have." 

For  one  minute  painting  seemed  to  him  a  very 
poor  business,  and  it  seemed  a  very  fine  thing  to 
be  a  handsome  black-eyed  Italian,  playing  the  man- 
dolin among  the  vines  at  evening,  and  singing  in  a 
voice  more  passionate  even  than  the  love-song  he 
uttered. 

Valeria  praised  the  song  and  the  place  and  the 
evening,  and  rose  to  go,  delighted.  For  she  had 
caught  a  little  green  ray  in  the  blue  eyes  of  Eosa's 
laggard  lover,  and  she  joyfully  hoped  that  he  was 
suffering  unutterable  torments  of  jealousy. 

They  all  accompanied  her  home,  and  took  a  cordial 
leave  at  the  door,  for  she  was  to  go  away  early  the 
next  morning.  Old  Chiara  stood  in  the  piazzctta, 
waiting  to  take  Eosa  up  to  the  palace ;  and  they  all 
went  their  ways,  and  the  summer  dissolved  like  a 
dream  that  leaves  one  smiling. 

The  next  morning,  accompanied  by  a  servant  whom 


"SWEET  HOME."  155 

she  had  engaged  in  Palesfcrina,  she  set  out  for  Rome, 
"  not  knowing  whither  she  went." 

The  apartment  was  a  convenient  one,  and  had  been 
very  well  put  in  order  for  her.  Her  own  part,  which 
occupied  all  the  centre  and  the  western  end,  consisted 
of  three  rooms,  the  centre  being  divided,  and  giving  a 
study  looking  into  the  garden,  and  a  bedroom  look- 
ing into  the  street,  with  a  little  corridor  between 
leading  to  a  large  sala  that  occupied  all  the  end 
of  the"  building.  The  rest  was  given  up  to  the  ser- 
vant. 

This  servant,  Marta,  proved  very  good-natured,  as 
Italian  servants  usually  do  when  well  paid  and  well 
treated,  and  allowed  their  little  thefts.  But  she  was 
immeasurably  astonished  at  her  mistress's  manner  of 
setting  up  housekeeping,  and  at  the  little  need  she 
had  of  artisti. 

"But,  Madama  Valeria,  a  lady  cannot  do  such 
things !  "  she  ventured. 

Valeria,  who  had  rather  imperative  ideas  as  to  a 
servant's  place,  interrupted  her. 

"  A  lady  is  one  who  knows  how  to  do  everything  ; 
and  I  am  a  lady,  and  I  can  do  everything.  I  could 
build  a  house  if  I  would  take  the  trouble.  I  do  not 
wish  to  have  any  workmen  here.  You  are  strong,  and 
must  exert  yourself,  and  I  shall  tell  you  what  to  do. 
I  also  know  how  to  cook,  and  how  ironing  should  be 
done,  and  how  long  a  pound  of  coffee  ought  to  last, 
and  how  much  broth  a  pound  of  meat  will  make. 
In  short,  you  cannot  mention  a  thing  that  any  woman 
can  know  which  I  do  not  know  perfectly.  And  you 
need  never  tell  me  what  a  lady  should  or  should  not 
do,  because  I,  being  a  lady,  know  all  about  it,  and  you, 
being  a  servant,  cannot  possibly  know  anything  of  it." 

So  Marta  was  sent  up  on  a  ladder  to  hang  curtains, 
and  down  on  her  knees  to  scrub  floors ;  and  she  ham- 
mered her  fingers  black  and  blue,  nailing  covers  on  to 


156  BY  THE   TIBER. 

chairs ;  and,  when  all  was  completed,  she  had  to  own 
that  the  result  exceeded  her  expectations. 

In  a  week  the  house  was  in  order,  and,  though  hut 
scantily  furnished,  had  everything  that  was  necessary 
for  comfort.  The  rest  must  wait  for  better  times. 
And  in  the  mean  time  it  was  happiness  enough  to 
have  a  house  of  her  own,  all  her  own  to  command  in, 
to  invite  to,  or  to  exclude  from,  to  hide  in,  to  work  in, 
to  live  in.  It  had  not  been  life  before.  It  had  been 
only  journeying ;  now  it  was  rest.  No  more  listening 
ears  or  peeping  eyes  at  the  keyhole,  no  more  alien 
habits  to  disjoint  her  own,  no  more  sulky  faces  to 
dampen  her  sunny  mood,  no  more  uncertainty.  Seat- 
ing herself  in  an  arm-chair,  she  knew  that  she  could 
sit  there  ten  years,  if  she  chose.  It  was  now  worth 
while  to  plant  a  flower,  to  frame  a  picture,  to  em- 
broider a  table-cover ;  for  this  was  home  !  It  was 
worth  while  to  put  lavender  and  rose-leaves  all  about 
in  drawers,  on  shelves,  in  books  and  in  beds,  and  to 
coax  even  the  walls  to  catch  a  faint  perfume.  It  was 
"  sweet  home  ! " 

Before  the  week  was  well  over,  a  great  noise  began 
to  be  made  in  the  apartment  underneath.  Miss  Cromo 
had  returned,  and  was  setting  her  house  in  order  with 
much  bustle  and  parade.  There  was  a  running  about, 
a  thumping  of  furniture,  a  driving  of  nails,  a  rattling 
of  hand -carts,  a  sound  of  voices,  with  occasional  little 
feminine  screams. 

Valeria  laughed  as  she  heard  these  demonstrations. 
"  I  wonder  what  she  will  say  when  she  knows  who  is 
overhead !  I  hope  she  may  not  find  out  till  I  am 
ready." 

Her  servant  and  the  Prince's  major-domo  were  the 
only  persons  in  town  who  knew  her  whereabout,  and 
they  had  been  strictly  forbidden  to  tell  any  one,  on 
the  plea  that  she  was  not  yet  prepared  to  receive. 

She  had  taken  possession  of  her  studio,  a  charming 


"SWEET  HOME."  157 

little  room,  and,  with  a  writing-table  before  the  gar- 
den-window, was  waiting,  pen  in  hand,  for  a  subject. 
There  were  such  countless  little  stories  waiting  to  be 
told,  hovering  in  the  very  air,  as  thick  as  motes  in  a 
sunbeam. 

It  was  September  now,  with  still  a  summer  heat. 
The  garden  outside  was  a  blaze  of  color,  blooming  for 
itself  alone  ;  for  the  family  were  all  away.  Looking 
out,  one  saw  nothing  but  reds,  and  golds,  and  milk- 
white  shining  out  of  dark  green,  and  the  brown  wall, 
with  a  purple  mountain-top  over  it. 

"  We  must  build  a  city  and  a  few  villas  around  the 
foot  of  that  mountain.  How  would  a  pearl  villa  look 
half-way  up,  with  a  great  many  roses  and  myrtles 
about  it !  A  stream  of  bright  water  shall  come  down 
from  the  top  in  all  sorts  of  brook-gambols,  divide 
before  it  reaches  the  villa,  one  half  running  under 
ground,  and  springing  up  in  a  fountain  inside  the  wall. 
The  other  half,  heart-broken  at  this  desertion,  shall 
throw  itself  downward,  and  fall  on  a  peak  of  lapis- 
lazuli  with  such  force  as  to  be  dashed  all  into  spray 
over  the  flowers  and  grass  close  by  the  fountain  ;  and 
the  fountain  shall  laugh.  Cupid  and  Psyche  can  spend 
their  honeymoon  there."  And  a  great  deal  more  of 
the  like  nonsense. 

When  one  has  to  amuse  one's  self,  one  must  some- 
times be  foolish. 

Dropping  her  eyes  to  a  little  grove  of  camellias 
directly  before  her  window,  Valeria  saw  a  man  stand- 
ing there.  He  must  have  been  there  for  some  time 
without  her  being  aware  of  him.  He  seemed  scarcely 
aware  of  himself,  indeed.  His  face  was  partially 
turned  toward  her,  and  his  arms  hung  by  his  side. 
He  seemed  to  have  paused  there  unconsciously  in 
deep  and  not  pleasant  thought,  though  his  lace  was 
calm.  One  might  guess  that  under  the  h'xed  and  stat- 
uesque beauty  of  that  exterior  there  was  a  clash  of 


158  BY  THE   TIBER. 

thought  and  of  passion,  a  desperate  search,  as  of  one 
in  a  great  strait,  and  seeking  if  there  should  be  some 
means  of  escape  as  yet  unknown. 

After  a  moment,  he  started  slightly,  lifted  his  eyes 
enough  to  show  how  lustrous  they  were,  and  walked 
slowly  on,  looking  about  him.  Half  absently  he  lifted 
here  and  there  a  plant  too  heavy  with  blossoms,  and 
supported  it,  or  broke  off  a  withered  leaf,  touching 
them  softly  and  gravely,  as  if  he  reverenced  them. 
Beaching  a  fountain  presently,  he  sat  down  on  the 
marble  brink,  wet  both  hands  in  the  basin,  clasped 
them  over  his  forehead,  and  leaned  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  sitting  there  with  his  face  hidden. 

"  Something  is  the  matter  with  that  beautiful  Vit- 
torio,"  Valeria  thought.  "  I  will  not  look  at  him.  He 
believes  himself  to  be  unobserved.  I  hope  that  his 
lady  love  has  not  played  him  false,  if  he  has  one. 
How  could  she  !  " 

She  drew  back  from  the  window  just  as  Marta 
came  to  give  her  a  letter  that  the  postman  had  brought. 
"  It  is  from  Nell ! "  she  said  smilingly,  and  broke  it 
open.  "  I  wonder  where  the  gay  young  sailor-girl  is 
now ! " 

It  was  in  a  place  which  could  never  suffer  from 
drouth,  and  could  only  be  defined  by  certain  numbers 
of  latitude  and  longitude. 

"  Dear  Valeria,  don't  you  like  to  be  on  board  of 
a  ship  that  rolls  her  rail  nearly  under  on  both  sides  ? 
That  is  what  the  Azorean  is  trying  to  do  now,  and  we 
are  all  perfectly  satisfied.  We  are  becalmed  in  a  fog, 
or  befogged  in  a  calm,  as  you  please.  I  have  just 
dropped  my  blue  veil  overboard,  and  a  porpoise  has 
carried  it  off.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  has  tied  it 
around  his  tail  in  a  bow-knot,  and  is  now  switching 
it  about,  to  all  intents  and  porpoises  the  greatest 
dandy  in  the  briny  deep."  And  so  on. 

Valeria  took  her  pen,  and  wrote,  at  the  top  of  a 


"SWEET  HOME."  159 

sheet,  "Nelly's  Letter;"  then  began  rapidly  to  write 
out  a  story  of  an  imaginary  letter,  but  a  real  Nelly. 

The  sketch  was  half  finished  when  the  door-bell 
rang,  there  was  a  sound  of  voices  in  the  anteroom,  a 
step  in  the  corridor,  and  some  one  entered  the  sala,  of 
which  the  door  at  her  elbow  was  open.  She  was  too 
much  occupied  to  think  anything  except  that  it  must 
be  Marta. 

"  Well ! "  said  a  voice  behind  her. 

She  started  up,  and  confronted  Miss  Cromo,  who 
stood  with  wide-open  eyes  in  the  studio  door. 

"  I  can't  believe  my  eyes  !  What  does  it  mean  ? " 
the  lady  gasped. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  how  I  dare  ? "  said  Valeria, 
rising  to  meet  her  visitor,  and  really  pleased  to  see 
her. 

"  How  had  you  the  face  to  come  here  and  stay,  and 
never  tell  me  ? "  cried  Miss  Cromo. 

"  How  had  you  the  face  to  come  in  when  I  am  not 
at  home  ?  "  was  the  retort. 

"  You  have  spoilt  my  programme,"  she  added,  while 
Miss  Cromo  stood  looking  curiously  about  her.  "  I 
meant  to  have  let  my  card  down  by  a  string  from  the 
window  over  your  door,  and  waited  for  you  to  take 
it  in.  How  did  you  find  out  ?  I  forbade  everybody 
to  tell." 

"  I  know  you  did ;  I  suspected  some  mystery.  The 
major-domo  protested  that  he  had  forgotten  your  name, 
and  your  very  pert  servant  did  n't  seem  to  know  any- 
thing about  you." 

"  My  servant  obeys  my  orders,"  Valeria  said  tran- 
quilly. "  When  she  ceases  to  do  so,  I  shall  send  her 
away." 

Miss  Cromo  paused  a  moment,  seemed  to  check  a 
sharp  word,  then  went  on.  "  I  told  Burton  to  ask 
the  postman,  and  he  saw  a  letter  that  was  brought 
you  this  morning." 


160  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  What  a  good  detective  you  would  make ! "  was 
the  response.  "  But  you  ought  not  to  teach  Burton 
to  spy." 

"  Show  me  your  house  ! "  Miss  Cromo  said  abruptly ; 
then  added,  "  You  have  behaved  very  strangely,  very 
strangely,  indeed ! " 

"  It  is  you  who  are  behaving  strangely,"  Valeria 
replied  with  decision.  "There  is  not  the  slightest 
reason  why  you  should  know  anything  about  my 
affairs.  You  have  your  apartment,  and  I  have  mine, 
and  we  have  both  an  equal  right.  I  do  not  interfere 
with  you,  and  you  must  not  interfere  with  me.  I  am 
not  a  Dr.  Kraus,  nor  a  Burton,  nor  any  of  those  per- 
sons whom  you  can  bully.  It 's  a  vulgar  word,  but 
it  suits  the  circumstances,  and  describes  a  vulgar 
thing." 

Miss  Cromo  reddened  violently,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  a  tightness  in  her  throat.  She  put  her  hand  up 
to  her  bonnet-strings,  coughed  a  little,  and  made  an 
effort  to  control  herself.  Her  voice  was  almost  gentle 
when  she  spoke  after  a  minute ;  but  she  had  not  con- 
trolled the  fury  of  her  eyes. 

"  If  you  want  to  throw  me  away,  you  can,"  she 
said.  "  You  are  the  most  capricious  creature  I  ever 
saw." 

"  I  am  not  capricious,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  throw 
you  away,"  Valeria  replied  calmly.  "  I  want  you  to 
stay  within  your  limits  as  I  stay  within  mine.  You 
are  charming  when  you  behave.  Now  be  amiable, 
and  praise  my  beginning  of  housekeeping.  Of  course 
the  rooms  are  only  half  furnished  to  your  eyes, 
though  to  mine  they  do  very  well.  I  imagine  the 
rest.  You  know  I  can  afford  so  little  now.  Are  n't 
there  some  lovely  spaces  to  fill  up  ? " 

Miss  Cromo  was  still  choking  with  suppressed 
anger.  She  did  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  Valeria, 
and  she  was  eating  her  humble  pie;  but  it  went 


"SWEET  HOME."  161 

hard  with  her.  She  never  liked  to  lose  an  acquaint- 
ance. You  never  know  when  people  may  be  useful 
to  you,  was  her  motto.  They  were  good  for  claquers, 
if  for  nothing  else. 

Valeria  went  on,  giving  her  time  to  recover. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  never  have  the  rooms  full,  and  I 
do  not  care  to.  A  plain,  bare  drawing-room'  with  a 
lady  in  it  is  bien  distingutf,  as  somebody  said  of  the 
Frenchman  who  went  to  a  reception  without  his  dec- 
orations. I  think  it  will  be  the  next  fashion ;  just  as 
fashionable  ladies  are  going  to  wrap  themselves  in 
sheets,  by  and  by,  with  nothing  but  a  great  single 
jewel  here  and  there  to  hold  them  on." 

"  I  have  n't  the  least  peep  into  the  garden,"  Miss 
Cromo  said,  pausing  in  the  study  after  her  tour 
of  the  house.  "  I  had  half  a  mind  to  take  this 
apartment  on  that  account.  How  did  you  know 
about  it  ? " 

Valeria  thought  best  not  to  divulge  Miss  Chap- 
lin's part  in  the  affair ;  for  though  her  person  was 
out  of  reach  of  the  "whip-hand,"  her  reputation 
was  not. 

"  The  Prince  came  out  to  Palestrina  and  offered  the 
house  to  me  on  his  bended  knee,"  she  said.  "  And 
the  Pope  advised  me  to  accept." 

"  Nonsense  !    What  secret  can  it  be  ? " 

"  It  is  one  of  my  caprices  not  to  tell  I  dote  on 
mysteries." 

Miss  Cromo  was  silent. 

"  Now  don't  let  us  quarrel ! "  Valeria  went  on  im- 
pulsively. "  Why  need  we  clash  ?  I  wish  well  to 
you.  Our  aims  are  so  different  that  we  might  well 
get  along  peacefully  together,  and  it  would  be  un- 
pleasant for  both  if  we  were  not  at  peace." 

"  I  have  the  greatest  possible  willingness  to  be  at 
peace  with  you,  my  dear,"  Miss  Cromo  replied  sharply. 
"  The  difficulty  is  entirely  on  your  side." 
11 


162  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"Valeria  laughed  lightly.  "Oh,  you  artful  little 
woman,  I  know  what  sort  of  peace  you  want !  It  is 
the  lion  and  the  lamb  lying  down  together,  the  lamb 
inside  the  lion." 

"  You  are  such  a  lamb ! "  the  other  remarked  sig- 
nificantly. 

"  You  are  quite  right.  I  am  not  a  lamb,  nor  even 
a  sheep.  Lambs  and  sheep  were  made  to  be  fleeced 
and  eaten.  Sit  down,  please." 

"You  will,  of  course,  receive,"  Miss  Cromo  said, 
seating  herself. 

"  That  depends  on  whether  any  one  comes  to  see 
me.  I  should  be  glad  to  have  a  few  visitors.  I  might, 
one  of  these  days,  give  a  little  breakfast,  now  and 
then ;  but  never  a  dinner  nor  a  reception,  though  I 
were  worth  millions.  I  would  like  a  small  select 
circle  of  friends." 

Miss  Cromo's  face  showed  a  momentary  poignant 
mortification.  She  was  aware  that  her  own  society 
was  anything  but  select. 

"  Mrs.  Caruthers  told  Miss  Chaplin  that  she  would 
come  to  see  me  as  soon  as  I  should  return  to  town," 
Valeria  went  on  hastily,  perceiving  that  she  had  made 
a  mistake.  "  She  is  such  a  person  as  I  would  like  to 
know  I  am  told  that  she  is  a  very  high-minded 
lady."  And  then  she  perceived  that  she  had  made 
another  mistake ;  for  her  companion  looked  at  her 
with  a  sudden,  sharp  interest  which  was,  to  her  mind, 
out  of  proportion  with  the  importance  of  the  announce- 
ment. She  did  not  know  what  thought  was  behind 
those  sparkling  eyes,  but  it  made  her  uneasy  never- 
theless. 

The  thought  was  simply  that  Mrs.  Caruthers  should 
not  make  the  proposed  visit,  and  that  no  lady  should 
go  near  Valeria  whom  she  could  keep  away,  and  no 
friend  be  faithful  to  her  whom  she  could  alienate. 
For  such  a  work  her  many  acquaintances,  even  the 


«  S WEE  T  HOME."  163 

humblest,  were  of  use.  It  meant  that  her  instinctive 
hatred  was  growing  with  every  word  that  Valeria 
uttered,  and  that  it  had  caught  in  that  insane  drop 
of  blood  in  her  veins  which  lent  fury  to  her  pas- 
sions. Yet  after  the  first  intent,  momentary  look,  she 
smiled. 

"I  am  so  glad,  dear,"  she  said.  "You  will  like 
her  very  much.  You  need  more  society.  It  is  not 
wholesome  for  a  person  to  be  so  much  alone,  and 
always  in  the  clouds ;  though  yours  is  quite  an  ideal 
life.  You  ought  to  have  visitors  in  the  evening,  at 
least." 

"  I  shall  have  my  club  in  the  evenings." 

"  What  club  ? "  demanded  Miss  Cromo. 

"  Oh !  have  n't  I  told  you  that  I  am  going  to  found 
a  club  ?  I  have  already  two  members.  At  first  there 
will  be  but  seven ;  and  then  it  will  be  very  difficult 
for  any  one  to  gain  admittance." 

"  What  is  it  about  ?     What  is  it  called  ? " 

"  You  must  ask  more  prettily  than  that  if  you 
expect  to  be  told." 

"Now,  you  darling,  don't  tease!  You  know  that 
you  mean  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  It  is  called  the  Millennial  Club." 

"  How  very  odd  !  Of  course  I  am  one  of  the  two 
members.  Or  am  I  to  be  the  third  ? " 

"Neither.  We  are  not  going  to  admit  you.  It 
would  cease  to  be  millennial  if  you  were  a  member. 
Yours  is  a  reign  of  terror." 

"  I  will  terrify  you  into  admitting  me.  You  know 
I  am  as  sweet  as  a  kitten  when  I  am  pleased.  You 
can  make  me  secretary.  I  write  a  good  clear  hand." 

"  You  can't  come  in." 

"  I  shall  be  here  the  very  first  one.  Why  do  you 
call  it  the  Millennial  Club  ?  What  are  you  going 
to  do  ? " 

«' I  will  never  tell  you.    I  will  perish  first  1 " 


164  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  Tell  me  instantly  what  the  club  is  for  ! " 

"  We  are  going  to  correct  the  abuses  of  the  world." 

"  Just  what  I  should  like !  How  do  you  correct 
them  ?  I  can  be  vice-president." 

"  We  shall  vote  a  sufficient  income  to  all  the  poor 
people,  and  let  the  rest  be  as  rich  as  they  please.  We 
shall  reward  the  good,  and  punish  the  bad.  But  we 
won't  have  you." 

"  It  is  just  what  is  needed.     I  will  be  treasurer." 

"  One  of  our  first  acts  will  be  to  burn  you  in  effigy. 
You  will  not  enter  the  club  in  any  other  form." 

"  Nothing  could  be  nicer.  I  will  be  president. 
And  I  will  bring  a  little  metal  monk  I  have  to  put 
the  candles  out  with  to  exhort  my  effigy  in  her  last 
moments.  Perhaps  I  will  have  him  miraculously 
extinguish  the  flames.  It  will  be  a  scene  to  paint. 
And  now  I  must  go,"  she  added,  rising.  "I  have 
some  things  to  do ;  and  then  I  have  promised  to  take 
Mr.  Green  to  the  Arcadia  this  afternoon." 

"So  you  are  reconciled  to  the  Arcadia,"  Valeria 
said. 

"  I  was  never  out  with  it,"  Miss  Cromo  replied, 
growing  sharp  again. 

"  But  you  did  not  like  it,  you  know.  You  told  me 
it  was  a  bore,  and  you  never  went." 

"  I  never  said  so ! "  declared  Miss  Cromo,  but  with- 
out looking  at  Valeria. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  telling  me  about  the  poems 
that  were  nothing  but  words,  and  the  two  bishops, 
one  smelling  of  tobacco,  and  the  other  with  dirty 
hands  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  never  said  it !  I  never  said  it !"  cried  Miss 
Cromo,  and,  looking  upward,  seemed  to  call  heaven  to 
witness  to  her  sincerity. 

Valeria  regarded  her  attentively,  and  recollected 
what  a  lady  had  once  said  to  her  of  Miss  Cromo : 
"  She  will  lie  you  right  down  to  your  face." 


"SWEET  HOME:'  165 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  changed  your  mind,"  she  said 
dryly. 

Miss  Crorno  said  no  more.  There  had  been  no  re- 
sentment in  her  denial.  She  merely  wished  it  to  be 
understood  that  she  was  going  to  deny. 

"  How  is  Burton  ? "  Valeria  asked,  as  they  went 
toward  the  door.  "  I  suppose  he  is  helping  you  to 
set  your  house  in  order.  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him 
if  he  has  ever  a  minute  to  spare  me." 

Burton  was  a  young  painter,  and  Miss  Cromo's  fac- 
totum. She  had  sometimes  been  useful  to  him,  and 
he  was  far  more  useful  to  her.  He  was  her  escort, 
her  errand-boy,  her  agent,  her  slave,  and  she  led  him 
a  dog's  life  from  which  he  could  not  escape.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  wish  to  escape,  and  had  become  so  accus- 
tomed to  his  bondage  that  he  would  have  been  lost 
without  it ;  but  he  had  had  his  moments  of  rebellion 
when  the  rein  had  been  too  tightly  drawn.  On  such 
occasions  her  complaints  had  been  loud  and  long  to 
all  her  friends.  Valeria  had  herself  been  wearied 
by  them,  for  she  liked  Burton,  and  considered  him 
to  be  far  more  a  gentleman  than  Miss  Crorao  was  a 
lady.  He  was  a  good  fellow  when  not  influenced  by 
her. 

"A  perfect  boor,  my  dear,"  she  would  say.  "I 
really  shall  have  to  turn  him  off,  for  I  caunot  bear 
any  longer  his  'grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar'  ways. 
Mrs.  Polo  asked  me  the  other  day  how  I  could  per- 
mit him  to  speak  to  me  so  impudently,  and  said  that 
I  ought  to  exact  more  respect.  But  he  is  a  boor,  and 
that  is  all  that  you  can  say  of  him."  Then,  if  a  ser- 
vice were  wanted  from  the  young  man,  who  so  good 
as  he  ?  Nor  was  this  a  mere  selfish  and  ungrateful 
caprice,  which,  being  understood,  could  harm  no  one. 
For  Burton's  reputation  for  manliness  had  suffered 
with  his  well-wishers,  who  looked  on  him  as  rather  a 
poor-spirited  fellow,  while  those  who  were  indifferent 


166  BY  THE   TIBER. 

to  him  believed  the  evil  that  Miss  Cromo  said,  and 
paid  no  attention  to  her  sweeter  moods. 

The  last  that  Valeria  had  heard  from  Mm  in  the 
spring  had  excited  her  compassion.  "  Burton  cannot 
show  any  more  of  his  airs,"  Miss  Cromo  had  said  to 
her  gleefully.  "  He  is  poor  now,  completely  out  of 
money,  and  I  have  got  him  under  my  thumb." 

She  had  made  no  comment  on  the  coarseness  of 
feeling  which  had  dictated  this  speech,  and  had 
checked  an  impulse  to  remind  the  speaker  of  a  bitter 
time  when  she  had  herself  been  poor,  and  in  need  of 
friendly  help. 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

A  GOOD-NATURED   FELLOW. 

nPO  say  that  Vittorio  was  unhappy  would  be  to 
A      give  no  idea  of  his  state  of  mind.     He  was 
simply  in  torment. 

He  had  loved  the  Donna  Adelaide  with  an  impas- 
sioned worship  which  she  had  herself  degraded.  But, 
though  degraded,  it  was  not  dead.  He  clung  to  her 
broken  and  dishonored  image  with  a  passion  that  was 
sometimes  half  hate ;  for  he  had  nothing  else.  Such 
as  she  was,  she  was  his.  Intense,  morbid,  ideal,  he 
had  never  held  himself  to  be  bound  by  the  code  of 
a  social  order  which  his  birth  had  placed  him  outside 
of;  and  he  acknowledged  no  allegiance  save  that 
which  he  paid  to  nature.  In  his  way  he  was  singu- 
larly honorable,  more  so  than  many  a  pretender  to 
moral  excellence.  He  had  no  little  vices  nor  mean- 
nesses, and  he  had  noble  virtues.  But  his  one  crime  he 
placed  on  a  pedestal,  and  defended.  It  was  not  a  crime 
for  him,  he  thought;  since  everything  that  he  could 


A   GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  167 

desire  oil  earth  was  so  hedged  in  that  he  could  obtain 
nothing  without  stealing  it.  This  might  have  been 
an  ideal  love  if  she  had  willed  it  so.  He  would  have 
worshipped  her  as  an  angel  if  she  had  chosen.  But 
she  had  come  down  to  him,  and  now  she  was  his, 
he  said.  She  could  never  go  up  to  that  ideal  height 
again. 

She  had  never  tried  to,  indeed.  She  had  never, 
even  at  the  first,  attempted  to  play  the  role  of  an 
angel,  or  made  any  disguise  of  her  own  baseness. 
She  took  baseness  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  being 
able  to  imagine  anything  different.  Nothing  would 
have  seemed  to  her  more  ridiculous  than  that  a  man 
should  give  her  an  ideal  worship.  She  would  have 
thought  him  an  idiot. 

She  had,  then,  made  no  pretence  of  penitence,  but 
had  merely  become  prudent.  Her  family  suspected 
her,  she  said.  They  had  put  a  young  man  in  the 
garden  on  purpose  to  watch  her.  She  dropped  all 
that  wild  adventurous  spirit  which  had  at  first  made 
her  prepare  for  and  baffle  every  suspicion.  She  was 
afraid.  She  explained,  and  sought  to  conciliate  Vit- 
torio.  Sometimes  she  had  moments  of  haughty  im- 
patience with  him ;  and  then  afterward  she  humbled 
herself.  She  was  a  hypocrite,  and  he  knew  it.  He 
knew  that  she  was  tired  of  him,  but  also  that  she  was 
afraid  of  him.  What  he  did  not  know,  what  he  was 
wild  to  know,  was  if  some  one  else  had  taken  his 
place.  He  felt  that  it  must  be  so,  yet  could  find  out 
nothing.  Sometimes  he  had  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  discovery ;  then  all  had  dissolved  before  him 
like  a  mist.  The  same  means  which  she  had  used  to 
baffle  others,  she  was  now  using  to  baffle  him.  He 
felt  sure  of  it. 

And  this  young  man  whom  she  pretended  to  be- 
lieve was  set  to  spy  upon  her,  —  Vittorio  believed 
that  he  was  hired  by  her  to  guard  her  against  him. 


168  BY  THE    TIBER. 

He  had  known  the  fellow  by  sight  all  his  life.  Bruno 
was  from  the  little  mountain-town  of  San  Pietro,  above 
Palestrina,  and  knew  no  more  of  gardening  than  a  cat 
knows. 

"  Pretend  that  you  are  glad  to  have  him  here,  and 
want  his  help,  and  that  will  deceive  them,"  she  had 
said  to  Vittorio. 

"  Vittorio  wants  him,  though  I  don't  see  the  need," 
she  said  to  her  family.  "  Still,  as  he  has  a  certain 
sum  allowed  him  to  hire  what  assistance  he  wants,  I 
suppose  he  may  spend  it  as  he  likes.  Since  you  will 
keep  such  a  strange,  assuming  fellow,  of  course  you 
must  yield  to  his  caprices." 

The  truth  was,  Vittorio  did  not  pay  the  young  man 
a  penny.  The  mystery  was,  who  did  pay  him.  He 
certainly  did  not  lack  money ;  and  he  never  did  any- 
thing of  work  except  when  some  one  of  the  family 
was  in  sight. 

"  Why  should  he  pretend  to  work  before  them  if 
they  put  him  here  as  a  spy  ? "  Vittorio  asked. 

"  Because  they  want  him  to  deceive  you,  and  he 
makes  them  think  that  he  works  like  that  all  the 
time." 

It  was  a  tangle  ;  and  perhaps  if  they  had  all  spoken 
the  truth  to  each  other's  faces,  the  matter  would  have 
been  no  clearer ;  for  not  one  would  have  believed  what 
any  other  said.  The  truth  was  a  fish  which  they  never 
took  from  any  other  person's  hook  in  that  acqua  tor- 
bida  which  composed  their  social  element.  They  be- 
lieved what  they  saw,  and  nothing  more. 

The  Prince  had  refused  to  dismiss  Vittorio.  "  His 
sulkiness  does  not  trouble  me,  and  he  is  a  good  gar- 
dener," he  said.  "  He  never  brings  people  about,  nor 
asks  favors.  I  believe  that  he  is  an  honest  fellow. 
Let  him  keep  Bruno,  if  he  likes." 

This  Bruno  was  a  vulgarly  handsome  fellow  of 
twenty-two,  or  thereabouts.  He  was  lazy,  pleasure-lov- 


A   GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  169 

ing,  and  unprincipled.  He  was  not  vindictive,  lie  was 
even  called  good-natured  ;  but  it  was  that  good-nature 
which  is  not  incompatible  with  any  cruelty  or  crime. 
In  the  childish  days  when  he  had  gone  down  into  the 
fields  to  work,  he  had  been  a  cleverer  little  thief  than 
the  other  boys  of  his  age,  and  had  lied  with  greater 
dexterity.  He  had  never  had  any  scruples  of  con- 
science about  it.  He  did  not  know  what  conscience 
meant.  His  father  and  mother,  who  were  good,  pious 
people  in  their  way,  lied  with  an  absolute  tranquillity, 
quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  reckoned  how  much 
they  could  steal  from  the  rich  without  being  guilty 
of  a  mortal  sin,  and  never  intimated,  probably  never 
suspected,  that  honesty  had  any  positive  boundaries. 
His  companions  had  had  a  great  admiration  for  him 
in  those  days ;  for  he  had  known  how  to  invent  sto- 
ries and  circumstances,  and  to  prepare  whole  chapters 
for  any  denouement  which  he  had  fixed  upon  with  a 
dexterity  and  forethought  which  could  not  have  been 
excelled.  He  had  a  great  talent  for  this  sort  of 
enterprise. 

But  he  had  no  talent  for  labor,  nor  for  study,  nor 
for  denying  himself  anything  that  he  wanted ;  and  his 
early  life  had  been  hateful  to  him. 

A  rather  unpleasant  circumstance  had  taken  him 
away  from  that  life  when  he  was  scarcely  fourteen. 

We  have  said  that  Bruno  was  good-natured ;  and 
the  proof  of  the  rule  was  that  once  in  a  great  while 
he  got  into  a  terrible  fury.  It  was  seldom ;  but  these 
exceptions  were  strong  enough  to  make  themselves 
remembered.  It  was  not  his  fault,  he  said.  People 
should  let  him  alone.  If  Gian  had  n't  held  his  arms, 
nothing  would  have  happened. 

As  it  was,  the  unfortunate  Gian,  who  had  got  Bruno 
down  in  a  fight,  and  held  him  pinioned  with  one  hand 
while  he  beat  him  with  the  other,  had  been  nearly 
killed.  For  Bruno's  fingers  at  least  were  free,  and 


170  BY  THE    TIBER. 

they  had  got  his  knife  out,  and  pricked  Gian  in  the 
side  ;  and  when  Gian,  feeling  that  sharp  point,  had 
loosened  his  hold,  he  had  received  two  furious  stabs, 
and  had  fallen  bathed  in  blood. 

Bruno  had  had  to  fly,  of  course,  and  had  run  half- 
way to  Eome,  believing  that  Gian  was  dead.  And 
he  did  well  to  run ;  for  that  the  boy  was  not  dead 
would  not  have  saved  his  life.  Those  people  have 
quick  feelings,  and  Gian's  brothers  would  not  have 
waited  for  the  slow  life  to  return  to  that  pale  face  of 
his  before  plunging  their  daggers  in  little  Bruno's 
palpitating  heart. 

He  reached  Kome,  and  he  stayed  there,  half  starv- 
ing for  a  while,  but  after  a  few  weeks  finding  a  place 
as  errand-boy  in  a  house  where  there  appeared  to  be  a 
great  many  errands  to  do.  Little  by  little,  he  had 
shown  that  he  could  perform  sly  commissions  with 
uncommon  success,  and  he  learned  that  such  talents 
always  found  employment.  His  life  suited  him  ad- 
mirably now.  To  follow  some  person  about  the  city 
all  day,  and  report  everything  that  he  had  clone, 
without  his  knowing  that  he  was  watched ;  or  to 
keep  guard  over  a  certain  house,  and  tell  who  entered 
it ;  or  to  give  a  lira  or  a  cigar  to  some  house-porter, 
and  draw  from  him  all  that  he  knew  about  the  tenants  ; 
or  to  make  friends  with  the  servants  and  find  out  still 
more  private  affairs,  —  that  was  to  feel  himself  a  per- 
son of  consequence. 

There  was  a  variety  of  adventure  and  of  unex- 
pected incidents  and  combinations  in  this  life  which 
kept  him  continually  merry.  He  did  not  always  know 
for  whom  he  was  working,  and  he  never  showed  any 
curiosity.  When  he  did  know,  he  pretended  igno- 
rance ;  and  never  by  word  or  look  hinted  at  the  secret 
intelligence  that  really  existed,  except  with  his  most 
intimate  associates  in  the  same  business.  The  servant- 
girls  were  invaluable  to  him.  He  knew  Marta,  who 


A   GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  171 

lived  with  the  American  lady  in  the  casuccia,  and  just 
how  Madama  Valeria  sat  always  by  the  garden  window 
looking  out,  and  just  what  she  had  in  her  house,  and 
who  visited  her,  and  whom  she  visited.  Yet  he  never 
glanced  up  at  her  window,  nor  seemed  aware  of  her 
existence.  If  he  wished  to  know  if  she  were  there, 
he  went  behind  the  trees  and  peeped. 

"What  have  they  let  that  apartment  for?"  the 
Countess  Belvedere  had  asked  angrily,  on  seeing  a 
curtain  at  the  window.  "  Find  out  who  is  there." 

This  had  been  said  to  her  maid.  The  Countess 
affected  not  to  know  Bruno,  and  he  affected  not  to 
know  that  he  was  in  her  service.  He  could  not  have 
proved  it.  If  he  had  made  such  an  assertion,  she 
would  have  stared  at  him  with  her  bold  eyes,  and 
scorned  to  answer.  A  gentleman's  gentleman  had 
placed  him  in  the  garden,  and  given  him  his  orders ; 
and  he  knew  better  than  to  ask  any  questions.  His 
own  safety  depended  on  his  discretion.  At  a  hint  of 
betrayal,  who  knew  how  many  would  have  been  against 
him  ? 

So  when,  on  giving  the  maid  a  detailed  account  of 
Valeria's  affairs,  Lucia  had  cast  an  angry  glance  at  the 
window,  and  said,  "  I  wish  that  she  would  go  out  of 
that  house  !  "  he  understood  perfectly  well  that  he  was 
to  make  the  American  lady  wish  to  move  away.  But 
he  knew  equally  well  that  he  must  use  great  caution, 
though  the  lady  did  not  seem  to  be  a  person  of  much 
consequence.  She  went  out  but  little,  had  few  visitors, 
and  was  not  rich,  certainly.  Still,  their  way  was  to 
act  cautiously  and  circuitously. 

She  sat  all  day  watching  what  went  on  in  the  gar- 
den. Of  course  she  was  watching.  What  else  was 
she  there  for  ?  Of  course  she  suspected  something ; 
for  there  was  something  to  suspect.  Of  eourse  her 
mind  was  occupied  with  such  things.  All  the  people 
he  knew  occupied  their  minds  with  the  affairs  of 


172  BY  THE    TIBER. 

others ;  it  was  his  own  profession ;  what  else  should 
she  think  of  ? 

And  he  knew  perfectly  well  what  to  do.  No  vio- 
lence, —  oh,  no  !  Only  a  bungler  would  be  rude.  He 
knew  a  man  who  would  hang  about  and  smile  im- 
pudently in  her  face  whenever  she  came  down  her 
steps.  There  was  another  who  would  follow  her  home 
when  she  went  out.  There  were  certain  things  that 
he  could  say  or  cause  to  be  said  to  the  grocer's  men 
up  the  street  which  would  make  them  stare  at  her 
whenever  she  went  by,  and  come  out  and  look  after 
her,  and  do  everything  but  speak  to  her.  These 
people  could  go  to  her  door  with  strange  inquiries  and 
stranger  messages. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  do  anything  great.  All  that 
was  needed  was  a  series  of  petty  annoyances  which 
would  sound  like  nothings,  when  told,  but  which  would 
make  her  wish  to  go  away.  Besides,  some  means 
must  be  used  to  injure  her  credit  with  her  friends,  so 
that,  if  she  should  tell  any  tales,  they  might  not  be 
believed.  But  this  belonged  to  higher  circles  than  his, 
to  people  who  knew  her  friends.  Still  even  there  he 
could  help.  He  could  tell  his  employers,  or  have  told 
to  them,  any  story  which  they  might  wish  to  repeat. 
But  they  must  give  him  a  hint. 

It  was  not  the  first  affair  of  the  kind  in  which  he 
had  been  employed.  Why,  only  the  winter  before 
they  had  smiled  and  looked  and  whispered  a  French 
lady  out  of  town.  Somebody  wanted  her  to  go,  and 
go  she  did.  Yet  if  she  had  described  her  grievances, 
no  one  would  have  believed  that  she  actually  had  to 
go  in  consequence  of  them.  She  was  alone,  and  though 
she  had  friends,  they  were  not  relatives,  and  she  had 
no  real  protection.  She  could  not  complain  of  any 
one  in  particular ;  for  the  moment  she  fixed  her  eyes 
threateningly  on  one  whom  she  had  met  too  often,  he 
disappeared.  The  next  time  it  was  another.  In  all, 


A   GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  173 

it  had  taken  about  twenty  of  them ;  and  they  had 
grinned  and  whispered  and  stared  her  out  of  Kome. 
Nobody  would  believe  her.  They  thought  that  her 
imagination  deceived  her.  It  was  a  great  help  to 
Bruno  and  his  friends  that  outside  of  their  happy 
circle  most  people  were  as  stupid  as  idiots  about  such 
affairs,  and  did  not  wish  to  inform  themselves.  They 
would  know  that  a  man  was  a  liar,  yet  believe  all 
that  he  said;  they  would  know  that  he  was  subtle 
and  intriguing,  yet  refuse  to  believe  that  he  would 
seek  to  attain  his  ends  by  any  but  the  most  bungling 
means.  This  stupidity  was  a  great  help  to  them. 

Then  there  was  that  other,  a  gentleman  this  time. 
They  had  driven  him  crazy.  Bruno  almost  died  of 
laughter  when  he  thought  of  it.  They  began  by 
watching  and  following  him  with  pretended  secrecy, 
till  they  had  attracted  his  attention.  Then  they  sent 
a  brigand  two  or  three  times  to  hang  about  his  door, 
and  on  the  stair.  Then  they  made  friends  with  a 
waiter  in  the  hotel  where  he  boarded,  and  had  the 
man  drop  salt  or  sugar  out  of  a  tiny  paper  into  his 
soup  or  wine,  so  that  he  had  not  dared  to  taste  either. 
They  had  stared  at  him  fixedly  and  strangely.  At 
first  the  man  had  been  astonished,  then  nervous,  then 
terrified ;  and  after  a  mouth  or  two  he  had  begun  to 
act  very  strangely ;  and  at  last,  he  had  actually  become 
insane.  It  was  great  fun. 

That  the  French  lady  had  been  truly  a  lady,  and  a 
delicate  and  refined  woman,  and  that  the  gentleman 
had  been  honorable  and  cultivated,  though  not  too 
strong  of  mind,  only  made  the  fun  the  greater.  If 
they  had  been  dishonest  persons,  they  would  have 
been  let  alone. 

This  smiling,  good-natured  human  reptile  would 
have  known  perfectly  well  how  to  apply  the  torture 
of  the  drop  by  drop  of  water.  He  was,  indeed,  inval- 
uable to  his  employers,  who  did  not  like  to  descend  to 


174  BY  THE   TIBER. 

small  details.  It  was  enough  for  them  to  give  their 
money,  and  a  hint ;  and  they  preferred  to  give  only 
such  a  hint  as  could  be  made  nothing  of  in  a  court  of 
justice.  Not  that  courts  of  justice  would  ever  dream 
of  having  anything  to  do  with  them,  however.  They 
were  too  respectable.  But  it  was  best  to  be  always 
on  the  safe  side.  They  even  gave  their  money  in 
a  prudent  way.  "  Here  are  five  lire  for  that  good 
fellow  who  picked  up  the  cane  I  dropped  this  morning. 
It  is  a  valuable  cane,  and  I  should  have  been  very 
sorry  to  lose  it."  And  perhaps  the  so-called  five  lire 
were  five  times  five,  or  ten  times  five,  arid  a  sign  had 
indicated  what  cane  was  to  be  picked  up  next. 

It  is  always  best  to  be  prudent.  Prudence  is  a 
great  virtue.  Does  she  not  hold  the  mirror  to  Justice  ? 

Bruno  was  at  Villa  Mitella  to  keep  watch  on  Vit- 
torio,  that  he  did  not  find  out  certain  affairs  which 
were  none  of  his  business,  and  to  try  to  persuade  him 
to  go  away,  to  emigrate,  to  jump  into  the  Tiber,  if  he 
had  a  fancy  to  do  so,  and  to  make  himself  generally 
useful. 

He  did  not  dislike  Vittorio.  He  merely  thought 
him  a  fool.  He  had  always  thought  him  a  fool. 
A  fellow  who  stood  apart  from  everybody,  neglecting 
advantages  which  would  have  given  him  place  and 
money,  and  glowering  at  fortune,  —  what  was  such  a 
fellow  but  a  fool  ?  If  he,  Bruno,  had  had  Vittorio' s 
chance  with  the  Countess  Belvedere,  he  would  have 
made  his  fortune  by  it,  and  climbed,  who  knows  where  ? 
But  the  fellow  was  a  fool,  and  bent  on  destruction. 
Still  he  wished  him  no  harm,  though  Vittorio  treated 
him  scornfully.  Bruno  was  good-natured. 

Bruno's  good-nature  was  a  certain  physical  quality 
combined  with  indifference.  He  was  self-centred,  and 
had  no  outward  clinging  fibres  to  tear.  Wherever 
he  was,  there  was  the  thing  which  he  loved  best,  — 
himself.  Such  natures  roll  as  easily  as  balls.  Their 


A    GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  175 

particles  all  press  toward  the  centre,  and  wherever 
they  may  roll  or  stop,  they  are  always  right  side  up. 
Only  they  do  not  like  to  get  into  a  corner. 

Bruno  always  carried  a  knife.  All  his  fellows  did. 
All  the  boys  in  Palestrina  had  carried  them  when  lie 
was  young,  and  those  who  were  rich  enough  carried 
revolvers.  The  law  does  not  allow  men  or  boys  to 
carry  weapons,  you  say  ?  What  of  that  ?  What  was 
the  law  ?  It  had  never  touched  him.  Bruno  looked 
upon  the  law  as  a  very  good  joke.  He  laughed  at  it. 
All  that  he  feared  was  vendetta,  the  people's  law. 
Why,  he  knew  plenty  of  men,  yes,  and  women  too, 
who  ought  to  be  hanged,  if  the  law  was  to  be  believed ; 
and  yet  nobody  was  safer  than  they.  They  were 
more  safe  than  honest  people  were. 

So  much  for  Bruno. 

Vittorio,  who  knew  enough  about  him,  was  some- 
times minded  to  put  him  out  of  the  garden.  But 
the  thought  that  he  might  then  have  to  go  himself 
restrained  him.  Not  to  be  able  to  see  the  woman  he 
loved,  to  reproach  her,  to  watch  her,  to  be  tormented 
by  her,  that  he  could  not  endure.  For  him,  all  out- 
side that  garden-wall  was  a  desert,  though  within  all 
was  misery.  Still  who  knew,  if  he  should  stay,  what 
sudden,  unexpected  happiness  might  start  up  some 
day  !  He  was  still  so  young  that  utter  ruin  seemed 
impossible.  And  who  knew,  if  the  happiness  should 
fail  him,  what  sudden  vengeance,  almost  as  sweet, 
might  break  through  all  this  darkness  and  uncertainty, 
and  drive  them  asunder,  as  the  lightning  breaks  the 
cloud  and  lets  the  sunshine  out  ?  He  could  not  be- 
lieve that  he  was  to  have  no  one  drop  of  sweetness  in 
all  his  poisoned  life.  For  if  Adelaide  did  not  love 
him  now,  then  she  never  had  loved  him,  and  he  had 
not  even  a  memory. 

"  I  wish  she  were  dead ! "  he  cried  out  more  than 
once,  in  his  anguish. 


176  BY  THE    TIBER. 

The  Countess  Belvedere  had  had  an  eccentric  freak 
this  summer,  though  it  was  a  freak  not  unknown  to 
ladies  of  fashion.  She  had  chosen  to  bury  herself  in 
a  solitary  place  to  rest  her  complexion  and  her  hair, 
and  to  get  a  little  lustre  back  to  her  eyes.  So  she 
had  said.  And  she  had  gone,  with  only  Bruno  and 
her  maid,  to  Nettuno,  had  taken  an  apartment  in 
the  old  Palazzo  Doria,  and  was  passing  the  months  of 
July  and  August  in  taking  baths,  reading  novels,  and 
going  to  bed  at  Ave  Maria, 

Vittorio,  who  had  seen  no  diminution  of  her  beauty, 
did  not  believe  the  story  she  told,  though  it  was  half 
true.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  must  wait 
for  her  to  come  back.  And  it  was  like  waiting  iu 
flames  of  fire.  What  was  she  doing,  and  whom  did 
she  see  ?  There  wras  a  certain  person  whom  he  hated, 
and  who  was  also  out  of  town.  Where  was  he  ? 

He  walked  the  garden  studying  this  problem,  and 
stared  into  the  flowers,  as  if  for  an  answer.  He 
walked  the  street,  and  tossed  on  his  sleepless  bed, 
thinking  it  over.  He  paused  in  his  meals,  with  the 
food  or  the  glass  half  raised  to  his  lips,  studying  over 
it.  His  cheeks  were  burnt  away  with  the  inward 
fire,  and  all  his  flesh  consumed.  People  started  when 
they  met  his  large,  glowing  eyes. 

"  If  she  were  dead,  I  could  be  at  rest,"  he  thought. 
"  But  never  while  she  lives,  never !  never ! " 

The  Countess  Belvedere  was  very  far  from  being 
dead.  She  was  in  high  life  and  health.  She  was  learn- 
ing to  swim  from  some  people  who  came  over  almost 
every  day  from  Porto  d'  Anzio.  She  lay  in  bed  in 
the  morning  until,  through  tiny  cracks  in  the  shutters, 
the  sunlighted  ripples  of  the  sea  sent  in  reflections, 
as  into  a  photographer's  camera,  and  all  the  dusky 
painted  ceiling  seemed  to  swarm  with  dancing  fireflies. 
Then  she  went  out  and  plunged  into  the  warm  green 
water,  and  swam  up  to  the  high  rocks,  and  took  the 


A   GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW.  177 

spray  they  sent  back  over  her.  If  she  was  alone, 
Bruno  followed  with  a  boat,  and  perhaps  took  her 
back.  But  she  was  seldom  alone. 

In  the  evening  she  leaned  in  her  balcony  over  the 
sea,  where  Olympia  Maldacchini  had  once  leaned. 
For  this  was  her  palace ;  and  the  black  foundations 
of  her  ruined  baths  were  there  beneath  the  loggia, 
rippled  over  by  sunny  rollers  when  the  tide  was  high 
and  the  weather  calm,  but  wreathed  and  hidden  in 
angry  foam  when  the  scirocco  or  the  ugly  south-west 
wind  blew.  When  the  waves  rolled  in  and  struck, 
and  tossed  their  foam  up  along  the  walls  of  this  castle 
by  the  sea,  and  even  into  the  loggia,  then  the  Coun- 
tess Belvedere  shut  herself  into  her  room,  and  read 
novels,  or  she  was  entertained  by  visitors.  She  saw 
no  beauty  in  a  storrn  or  an  angry  sea.  When  a 
tempest  of  thunder  and  lightning  came,  she  wrung 
her  hands  and  prayed.  She  knew  that  she  deserved 
to  be  struck  dead.  When  it  cleared  away  she  re- 
ceived her  lover. 

On  white  moonlighted  nights  she  went  out  boating, 
and  sometimes  stayed  till  the  east  began  to  quicken 
with  another  day.  On  dark  starlit  nights  she  stayed 
in  the  house.  She  hated  darkness,  and  she  hated 
solitude. 

Of  course  she  was  never  alone.  Carriages  came 
up  from  Porto  d'  Anzio  by  day,  and  boats  by  day  or 
by  night.  A  boat  could  come  over  that  soundless, 
trackless  highway,  and  land  its  passengers  just  under 
her  loggia  ;  then  a  dozen  steps  round  under  the  dark 
archway,  and  they  were  at  her  door. 

It  was  all  very  pleasant  as  long  as  the  novelty 
lasted.  When  that  was  worn  off,  she  went  back  to 
Palazzo  Mitella.  And  then,  seeing  a  white  muslin 
curtain  over  the  window  of  the  casuccia,  she  demanded 
who  was  there,  with  the  result  which  we  have  seen. 

12 


178  BY  THE   TIBER. 

CHAPTEE  XIX. 

REJECTED   HELP. 

THE  Countess  Belvedere  was  beginning  to  be 
alarmed,  and  her  alarm  increased  as  the  weeks 
passed.  Her  husband  had  ceased  to  accuse  her,  but 
he  was  more  than  ever  watchful.  Her  father  scarcely 
addressed  a  word  to  her,  except  in  the  presence  of 
others.  Even  before  the  servants  he  disregarded  her. 
Some  of  her  relatives  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
coming  to  see  her  unexpectedly,  and  of  questioning 
the  servants  rather  awkwardly  as  to  her  whereabouts 
when  she  was  not  at  home.  Apparently  people  were 
beginning  to  fear  that  they  could  no  longer  pretend 
ignorance  of  her  character. 

The  winter  months  passed  in  a  keen  and  silent 
battle,  full  of  pleasure  and  excitement,  but  full  of 
fear ;  and  with  the  spring  a  crisis  approached. 

Cardinal  Meronda,  a  Spanish  prelate  of  distin- 
guished reputation,  was  coming  to  Borne  in  Easter 
week,  and  everything  depended  on  him.  Many  years 
before,  when  he  was  a  young  Monsignore,  and  the 
Prince,  new  in  his  purchased  title,  was  living  in  Na- 
ples, the  two  had  been  close  friends ;  and  their  friend- 
ship had  never  entirely  ceased,  though  their  meetings 
had  been  few  and  brief.  Monsignor  Meronda  had 
passed  several  years  in  Naples,  and  was  the  godfather 
of  the  Donna  Adelaide.  It  behooved  her  to  stand 
well  with  him. 

Was  it  only  pressing  occupations  which  had  made 
him  delay  so  long  in  answering  her  cordial  invitation 
to  make  Villa  Mitella  his  home  during  his  stay  in 
Rome,  and  rendered  the  letter  of  reply  so  much  more 
courteous  than  friendly  ?  He  would  first  pass  a  few 


REJECTED  HELP.  179 

days  in  a  monastery,  and  he  could  not  decide  upon 
her  invitation  till  he  should  be  in  Rome. 

Her  father  and  her  husband  both  looked  at  her 
with  lowering  brows  as  she  read  out  this  ambiguous 
and  chilling  reply. 

"If  he  does  not  come,  it  will  be  because  he  has 
heard  tales  of  you,"  the  Count  exclaimed,  and  flung 
angrily  out  of  the  room. 

"  He  is  such  a  brute  ! "  she  muttered,  looking  after 
him,  and  not  daring  to  glance  in  her  father's  face. 

"  The  truth  is  brutal,"  he  responded  gloomily,  "  and 
you  may  yet  find  it  become  more  so."  He  rose  from 
the  table  where  they  had  been  lingering  after  dinner. 
"  See  to  it  that  our  invitation  is  accepted,  or  that  we 
have  some  reason  which  will  not  be  suspected.  And 
if  these  scandals  do  not  cease,  remember  Cecilia 
Bari ! " 

She  shivered  at  the  name,  for  Cecilia  Bari  had  been 
suddenly  snatched  by  her  family  out  of  a  too  free  life, 
and  had  disappeared  into  a  seclusion  from  which  she 
never  again  emerged ;  and  though  she  was  at  this  time 
insane,  it  was  well  known  that  insanity  had  been  the 
effect,  not  the  cause  of  her  confinement.  That  was  at 
the  South  ;  but  the  same  might  happen  at  Rome. 

"  What  can  it  mean  ? "  she  said  to  her  maid  that  night. 
"  I  have  been  as  careful  as  possible." 

"  Bruno  says  that  it  is  the  Americana"  the  girl  whis- 
pered. "  She  is  always  at  the  window,  and  she  must 
have  told.  Marta  says  that  she  sits  there  sometimes 
in  the  dark.  To-day  she  saw  Bruno  talking  with 
Marta,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  certi  occhi  — 
She  laughed.  "  He  told  Marta  that  her  signora  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  Vittorio,  and  was  jealous  of  me." 

The  Countess  was  too  much  disturbed  to  laugh. 
"  It  is  a  good  idea  to  say  that,"  she  remarked,  "  but 
that  is  not  enough." 

It  was  now  mid-Lent,  and  she  set  herself  to  work 


180  BY  THE   TIBER. 

without  delay.  She  weiit  to  confession  and  Com- 
munion in  a  much-frequented  church,  and  she  com- 
mitted these  sacrileges  with  such  devotion  that  every 
one  was  edified.  Then  she  began  to  go  to  Mass  daily ; 
and  she  called  upon  her  most  respectable  friends,  and 
interested  herself  in  selling  tickets  for  a  raffle  for 
some  impoverished  nuns.  When  Holy  Week  came, 
she  spent  half  of  each  of  the  last  three  days  in  church, 
dressed  and  veiled  in  the  deepest  black.  And  she  ate 
fish  all  the  week,  and  fasted  on  Good  Friday. 

On  Easter  Sunday  she  again  sacrificed  to  Satan  and 
Society  in  a  Communion  in  the  morning ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  she  appeared  at  solemn  vespers  in  a  new 
dress  and  bonnet,  and  a  smile  of  joy  for  the  Resur- 
rection. 

Her  convent  education  had  taught  her  what  senti- 
ments were  proper  to  the  occasion,  and  she  imitated 
them  admirably. 

The  Countess  had  a  suspicion  of  what  was,  in  fact, 
the  truth,  that  she  had  less  to  fear  from  the  lady 
in  the  casuccia  —  from  any  one,  indeed,  who  was  not 
necessarily  connected  with  her  affairs  —  than  from 
the  zeal  of  her  own  assistants.  Still,  the  American 
must  be  got  rid  of. 

She  studied  over  the  matter.  Miss  Pendleton, 
whom  she  knew  well,  could  easily  be  made  to  believe 
that  Valeria  should  leave  the  place,  and  to  recommend 
her  to  some  other  where  all  she  should  say  would  be 
known  ;  and  it  would  be  easy  to  find  some  one  to  talk 
to  Miss  Pendleton.  For  the  Countess  herself  must 
seem  to  know  nothing  of  the  matter.  There  was  a 
certain  Miss  Crankey,  a  gossiping  American,  who  was 
known  to  busy  herself  very  much  in  other  people's 
affairs,  and  to  talk  a  great  deal,  and  with  ill-concealed 
ill-nature,  of  the  Signora  Valeria.  This  little  woman, 
excellent  but  ridiculous,  and  not  a  little  jealous,  had 
an  ambition  to  know  as  many  Monsignori  as  pos- 


REJECTED  HELP.  181 

sible,  and  to  be  considered  a  person  of  great  influence 
in  the  church.  She  was  one  of  the  most  active  in 
preventing  these  reverend  gentlemen  visiting  that 
black  sheep,  Miss  Cromo.  Of  course,  the  fact  that, 
had  Miss  Cromo  been  orthodox  and  honest,  she  would 
have  reduced  the  Crankey  to  a  nonentity  in  her  own 
province,  could  have  had  no  effect.  Well,  undoubt- 
edly this  little  woman  would  not  in  the  least  object  to 
have  something  to  tell  of  the  Signora  Valeria,  and  she 
was  sure  to  tell  it  to  Miss  Pendleton.  It  could  easily 
be  arranged.  The  Countess,  through  some  of  her 
gossips,  knew  all  about  these  people.  And  there  was 
a  person  who  occasionally  visited  the  Crankey  on  pur- 
pose to  learn  all  the  gossip  that  she  knew,  and  tell  her 
all  that  they  wanted  to  have  spread  about. 

Everything  succeeded  perfectly.  The  Countess 
thought  that  Providence  plainly  favored  her  in  re- 
ward for  the  pious  example  she  had  given.  For  even 
though  one  should  be  guilty  of  some  little  private 
omissions  of  duty  (she  called  them  mancanze),  it  is 
always  a  virtue  to  set  a  good  example  in  public. 

Cardinal  Meronda  arrived,  and  having  heard  from 
a  friend  of  the  admirable  behavior  of  his  goddaughter, 
took  up  his  abode  after  a  few  days  in  Villa  Mitella. 
An  apartment  in  the  south  wing  was  given  up  to  him, 
a  carriage  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  he  could  order 
luncheon  at  whatever  hour  he  pleased  for  himself  and 
any  persons  whom  he  might  choose  to  invite.  He 
was  offered  a  private  dinner ;  but  he  graciously  pre- 
ferred to  dine  with  the  family. 

Moreover,  after  a  .few  days,  when  all  the  Catholics 
of  any  distinction  in  Eome  had  paid  their  respects  to 
the  great  man,  a  grand  papalina  reception  was  given 
for  him  in  Villa  Mitella.  These  papalina  receptions 
had  become  a  thing  of  the  past,  the  great  Catholic 
families  having  hung  their  harps  on  the  willows  on 
the  fall  of  the  temporal  power;  but  they  could  not 


182  BY  THE   TIBER. 

refuse  to  honor  this  distinguished  visitor,  whose 
name  was  equally  illustrious  for  virtue,  learning,  and 
elegance. 

Therefore,  one  evening  late  in  April,  Palazzo  Mitella 
"  flared  like  a  beacon ;"  and  the  streets  in  front  echoed 
to  the  carriages  that  set  down  their  loads  at  its  por- 
tone,  through  which  a  scene  of  enchantment  was  vis- 
ible beyond  the  entering  guests,  and  the  servants  in 
their  gay  liveries. 

For  the  garden  also  was  lighted,  not  too  brightly, 
but  with  a  fairy-like  sprinkling  and  clustering  of  col- 
ored lamps,  that  left  here  and  there  a  shady  walk. 
One  of  the  pine-trunks  in  the  temple  of  Undine  was 
wreathed  about  with  tiny  gold-colored  lamps,  and 
others  shone  above  in  the  dark  boughs ;  and  light  was 
so  arranged  from  unseen  lamps  about  the  fountain 
that  the  nestling  jet  arose  like  molten  gold,  and  fell 
and  scattered  like  sparks  of  fire.  Nearly  all  the 
water  was  lighted.  Only  one  slender  fountain  showed 
white  and  ghost-like  among  the  roses ;  and  the  roses 
were  all  in  darkness. 

"  I  have  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful,  dear 
child,"  the  Cardinal  said  to  his  goddaughter,  when 
all  was  ready. 

He  was  exceedingly  well  pleased  with  her ;  for  the 
Countess,  intending  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure, 
and  to  consecrate  her/ esta  as  almost  a  religious  cere- 
mony, had  again  made  a  Communion  in  the  villa 
chapel  that  morning,  receiving  from  the  hand  of  her 
godfather.  The  Prince  had  served  the  Mass,  and  all 
the  household  had  assisted.  Even  the  Count,  a  late 
sleeper,  had  crept  in,  yawning,  when  the  service  was 
nearly  over,  and  made  himself  visible  at  the  benedic- 
tion. "  Cursed  hypocrite  ! "  he  muttered,  on  seeing 
his  wife  go  up  to  the  altar  steps.  But  her  father, 
having  something  of  the  Cardinal's  own  sweetness 
and  piety,  hoped  for  her. 


REJECTED  HELP.  183 

She  still  remained  on  her  knees  when  the  family 
had  retired  ;  and  even  when  the  Cardinal  had  finished 
his  thanksgiving,  there  she  was  kneeling  with  her 
slender  hands  folded,  and  a  veil  dropped  over  her 
face,  like  the  most  hidden  of  vestals.  "  God  bless 
you  ! "  he  murmured,  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her 
head  in  passing.  It  took  a  load  off  his  mind,  and  dis- 
posed him  to  be  pleased  with  everything. 

It  was  rather  a  stately  company  that  assembled 
that  evening  in  his  honor.  Among  the  chief  guests, 
a  dignified  grace  and  scrupulous  ceremony  learned 
in  courts,  or  inherited  from  a  courtly  ancestry,  had 
become  a  habit.  If  the  man  and  the  woman  of  the 
period  were  present,  and  doubtless  they  were,  they 
were  overawed  by  the  chief  personages,  and  laid  aside 
their  flippancies  and  their  superciliousness  to  be  used 
in  another  presence.  In  all,  there  was  that  repose 
and  harmony  which  result  from  perfectly  defined  po- 
sitions and  differences  ;  and  the  least  was  certain  of 
being  courteously  treated  by  the  greatest. 

"After  all,"  whispered  an  abashed,  but  admiring 
stranger  to  a  friend,  "  such  a  ceremony  is  not  only 
noble,  but  it  looks  to  me  more  simple,  and  truly 
worthy  of  human  beings.  When  I  see  how  pro- 
foundly and  gravely  they  salute  each  other  on  being 
introduced,  it  reminds  me  that  for  two  persons  to  be- 
come acquainted  may  have  consequences  more  serious 
than  a  waltz  or  flirtation." 

A  great  number  of  clergymen  were  present,  more 
than  one  cardinal  among  them ;  and  there  were  arch- 
bishops and  bishops  a  full  score,  and  half  a  hundred 
Monsignori  of  lesser  grades,  both  young  and  old.  The 
ladies,  especially  the  married  ones,  were  brilliant. 
But  the  loveliest  of  all  was  the  Marchesa  di  Mirandola, 
the  bride  of  a  year,  whose  romantic  story  was  still  a 
topic  of  conversation.  In  her  robe  of  white  Canton 
crdpe,  heavy  with  embroideries,  and  white  velvet  with 


184  BY  THE    TIBER. 

pale  blue  linings,  and  turquoises  and  diamonds,  she 
looked  a  goddess.  And  her  husband  was  worthy  of 
her;  for  there  was  not  a  handsomer  man  in  Rome  than 
Don  Filippo  di  Mirandola. 

These  two  were  particularly  distinguished  guests, 
for  Don  Filippo  was  a  nephew  of  Cardinal  Meronda, 
and  he  and  Madama  Camilla,  as  the  Marchesa  was 
usually  called,  were  to  accompany  him  on  his  return 
to  Spain, 

The  apartment  was  a  noble  one,  comprising  a  long 
vista  of  magnificent  chambers,  with  several  smaller 
rooms  running  backward  in  the  wings ;  and  the  little 
modern  furniture  which  had  been  introduced,  chiefly 
chairs,  tables,  and  sofas,  was  modest  in  form  and  color, 
however  rich  in  material.  The  great  cabinets  of 
carved  or  inlaid  work  were  hundreds  of  -years  old ; 
the  vases  and  pictures,  each  a  work  of  art  meriting 
attentive  study,  were  separated  by  panels  or  draperies, 
that  they  might  not  interfere  with  each  other.  The 
ceilings  glowed  with  color,  the  old  tapestries  had  the 
mellowed  tints  of  a  misty  summer's  day,  and  the  vel- 
vet curtains  had  ripened  like  fruit,  such  lights  slid 
along  green  folds  that  looked  like  sunny  moss,  or 
folds  of  red  that  took  the  light  like  rubies.  Over 
all  was  a  soft  illumination  from  hundreds  of  wax 
candles. 

There  was  but  little  of  what  is  called  entertain- 
ment. The  Countess  Belvedere  did  not  stir  from  her 
place  for  nearly  two  hours.  The  supper  was  elegant ; 
but  people  went  to  it  when  they  would.  Then  an 
improvisatrice  who  had  lately  arisen  to  notice  gave  a 
few  recitations.  Otherwise,  the  guests  entertained 
themselves. 

The  elder  prektes  went  away  rather  early ;  and 
Cardinal  Meronda,  having  walked  down  the  rooms 
with  one  of  them,  came  across  a  group  of  young 
Monsignori  on  his  return.  They  were  standing  a 


REJECTED  HELP.  185 

little  apart,  and  talking  with  a  mingled  earnestness 
and  merriment  which  attracted  his  attention. 

They  immediately  became  silent  as  he  drew  near, 
looked  at  him  with  smiling,  expectant  faces,  and 
bowed  lowly. 

"  If  I  had  the  power,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "I  would 
give  you  an  obedience  to  continue  your  conversation 
just  as  though  I  were  not  present.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  interrupt  what  seems  to  be  a  very  interesting 
conversation." 

"  A  conversation  could  only  become  more  pleasant 
when  your  Eminence  condescends  to  join  it,"  one  of 
the  young  clergymen  replied,  and  was  confirmed  by 
an  assenting  murmur  from  his  companions. 

We  were  speaking  of  the  new  American  Cardinal," 
he  continued,  "  and  wondering  who  will  be  chosen  to 
carry  the  berrefta  to  him.  Half  of  us  are  longing  to 
go,  and  the  other  half  dreading  to  go." 

"  The  longing  I  quite  understand,"  the  Cardinal  re- 
plied. "  It  would  be  pleasant  to  visit  the  Xew  World 
on  an  agreeable  mission,  and  have  all  one's  expenses 
paid.  But  what  can  the  dread  mean  ? " 

"Oh,  the  ocean!"  exclaimed  another.  "Fancy  all 
the  uncertainties  and  perils  of  such  a  journey,  the 
being  out  of  sight  of  laud  for  more  than  ten  days,  be- 
sides the  misery  of  not  being  in  Italy." 

"  The  latter  is  a  misery  which  the  greater  part  of 
the  world  bear  with  remarkable  equanimity,"  the 
prelate  remarked  dryly.  "  As  for  the  perils,  lei,  us  try 
to  be  men,  since  nature  has  denied  us  the  privilege  of 
being  women.  The  ocean  is  a  good  monitor.  If  I 
had  to  recall  a  sceptical  and  hardened  sinner  who 
never  crossed  the  ocean,  I  would  send  him  on  a  sea 
voyage.  I  am  sure  it  would  give  him  a  few  solemn 
thoughts." 

"  Eminenza,"  said  one  of  the  young  men,  with  soft 
insinuation.  "  there  are  some  things  in  which  I  ani  a 


186  BY  THE   TIBER. 

very  hardened  sinner ;  and  I  am  sure  that  a  journey 
to  New  York  would  do  me  great  good." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  the  speaker,  a  tall,  hand- 
some young  man  of  thirty,  with  the  boyish  lightness 
of  twenty  ;  and  his  smile  died  away. 

"  I  have  no  power  to  send  you  to  New  York,"  he 
said  gently ;  "  but  I  can  procure  another  ocean  voy- 
age for  you.  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Japan  as 
a  missionary  ?  " 

The  young  priest  shrank  back. 

"  It  is  settled,  Don  Cesare  ! "  cried  one  of  the  other 
Monsignori.  "  When  his  Eminence  makes  a  promise, 
you  may  safely  get  the  frying-pan  ready."  And  they 
all  laughed. 

"  Pray,  what  may  the  frying-pan  mean  ? "  asked 
the  Cardinal. 

"  His  Eminence  has  but  just  come  to  Rome,  or  he 
would  not  ask,"  said  Don  Cesare.  "  Perhaps  you  may 
have  heard  of  Mentana,  whom  we  call  the  laureate  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  And  I  remember  that  he  has  written 
some  cantos  said  to  be  worthy  of  Tasso,"  the  Cardi- 
nal replied,  with  an  air  of  serious  respect  for  the  per- 
son mentioned. 

"Well,"  Don  Cesare  continued,  "he  writes  little 
occasional  poems  on  Vatican  affairs,  and  when  he  reads 
them  the  Pope  usually  makes  him  some  gift.  Last 
month  some  one  in  Porto  d'  Auzio  sent  to  the  Vatican 
a  present  of  a  basket  of  the  finest  fishes  ever  seen. 
Mentana  immediately  set  himself  to  write  a  poem  on 
the  subject,  sitting  up  half  the  night  to  finish  it.  The 
next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  could  possibly  hope  to 
be  received,  he  dressed  and  set  out  for  the  Vatican. 
'  Get  the  frying-pan  ready,  Violante,'  he  called  out  to 
his  wife,  as  he  hurried  out  of  the  house.  He  found 
the  Pope  with  some  of  the  household  about  him,  and 
read  his  poem,  —  a  good  one,  too,  they  say,  —  then 
waited  for  the  biggest  fish  in  the  basket  to  be  given 


REJECTED  HELP.  187 

him.  The  Holy  Father  complimented  him  on  his 
poem,  and  presented  him  with  —  his  benediction. 
The  fishes  had  already  been  divided,  and  sent  to  the 
different  convents  about." 

The  Cardinal  smiled,  but  he  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  men  before  him.  He  knew  what  was  going 
on  in  the  world.  They,  wrapped  up  in  themselves 
and  their  environs,  and  utterly  ignorant  of  the  mean- 
ing of  anything  outside  of  Italy,  seemed  to  fancy  that 
Rome  was  still  imperial,  and  the  world  a  suburb. 
They  saw  people  coming  to  them  from  all  parts  of 
the  earth,  and  did  not  know  that,  for  more  than  half 
of  those  who  remained,  Rome  was  but  the  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers  of  a  weary  or  indolent  life.  These 
men  laughed  arid  trifled,  and  heard  nothing  of  the 
nineteenth  century  roaring  outside  their  gates.  The 
one  salt  wave  that  had  broken  in  could  not  convince 
them.  They  picked  their  way  through  the  debris  it 
made,  and  as  long  as  it  did  not  tarnish  the  buckles  on 
their  shoes,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  believed 
that  it  was  nothing. 

But  this  elder,  deeper-hearted  man  knew,  and 
while  they  laughed,  he  trembled.  Serious  business 
had  brought  him  to  Rome,  and  such  a  load  of  serious 
thought  lay  upon  his  soul  that  it  would  have  been 
too  much,  but  that  sometimes  he  felt  the  arm  and 
shoulder  of  Christ  slip  under  the  burden,  and  lift  its 
weight  with  him,  and  lift  him  with  it,  and  bear 
him  along  in  some  miraculous  hour  of  heavenly 
comfort. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  Montana's  disappointment,"  he 
said.  "  But  though  he  missed  a  fish  he  found  a  para- 
ble which  lasts  longer  and  serves  a  greater  number. 
Let  us  profit  by  it,  Monsignori.  Let  us  not  count  too 
much  upon  the  loaves  and  fishes,  and  let  us  remember 
that  though  our  faith  is  founded  upon  a  rock,  our  for- 
tunes are  not." 


188  BY  THE    TIBER. 

He  saluted  them  and  passed  on,  but  not  to  rejoin 
the  company.  Stepping  hastily  aside,  he  went  down 
to  a  little  curtained  alcove  on  the  lower  floor,  a  tiny 
room  quite  lined  with  purple  curtains,  in  the  midst  of 
which  hung  a  small  gilt  lamp  like  a  star  in  the  twi- 
light. There  was  no  door,  but  only  an  arched  opening. 
Opposite  that  behind  the  curtain  was  a  long,  open 
window  looking  out  into  a  loggia  a  few  steps  above  the 
garden.  From  this  loggia  a  broad  stair  led  to  an  up- 
per landing  outside  the  windows  of  the  state  rooms. 
Across  the  steps  leading  downward  a  gate  was  shut. 

All  the  curtains  in  the  alcove  were  down,  but  not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred  them.  Cardinal  Meronda  took  a 
breviary  from  his  pocket,  seated  himself  under  the 
lamp,  and  began  to  read  his  office. 

The  Countess  Belvedere,  meantime,  freed  from  her 
duty  of  receiving  compliments,  was  going  about 
among  her  guests,  and  allowing  them  to  amuse  her. 
She  was  looking  triumphant,  and  very  beautiful, 
though  simply  dressed.  Her  long  black  velvet  dress, 
swathing  and  disclosing  her  form  as  her  custom  was, 
had  no  drapery  except  a  lace  scarf  tied  around  just 
below  the  hips.  Rich  yellow  laces  shaded  her  arms 
and  bosom.  A  wide  necklace  of  rubies  with  a  dia- 
mond medallion  and  ear-rings  were  her  only  jewels, 
and  she  wore  only  one  spot  of  color.  Just  above 
where  the  sombre  folds  of  her  train  swept  out  on  the 
floor,  was  caught  an  immense  bow  of  red  satin,  look- 
ing as  though  a  butterfly  of  fire  had  alighted  on  her 
train  for  a  moment,  and  would  fly  away  again. 

In  a  side-room  a  group  of  young  people  stood 
around  a  German  lady  who  held  a  book,  arid  seemed 
to  be  telling  each  one  something  from  it. 

"  What !  telling  fortunes,  Baroness  ! "  the  hostess 
said.  "  What  if  the  Cardinal  should  catch  you  ? " 

"Such  an  interesting  book,  my  dear!"  cried  the 
German.  "  I  must  borrow  it  from  you.  Here  one 


REJECTED  HELP.  189 

finds  all  the  influences  under  which  one  is  born. 
Here  are  the  pagan  divinities,  the  angels,  the  demons, 
the  animals,  birds,  and  trees  which  govern  each 
month  of  the  year.  Only  tell  me  in  what  month  of 
the  year  you  were  born,  and  I  will  tell  you  your  for- 
tune. October  ?  Ecco  I  you  have  Pallas  ;  your  angel 
is  Barbiel;  your  demon,  Baal;  animal,  the  wolf ;  bird, 
the  owl ;  tree,  the  olive.  How  delightful !  And,  dear 
Lady  Camilla,  come  and  have  your  fortune  told.  Is 
it  July  ?  Listen.  It  is  a  lordly  month,  and  has 
Caesar  for  godfather.  Your  pagan  is  Jove  ;  your  an- 
gel, Berchiel;  demon,  Belzebub;  animal,  the  stag;  bird, 
the  eagle  ;  tree,  the  oak.  It  is  the  royal  month." 

The  Countess  escaped.  Such  things  did  not  inter- 
est her.  Italians  have  great  moral  subtlety,  but  little 
or  no  subtlety  of  the  imagination.  She  could  not  un- 
derstand this  Northerner's  delight  in  the  mystic.  For 
imagination  is  a  Northern  flower. 

Lifting  a  curtain,  she  stepped  out  to  the  loggia,  and 
looked  into  the  garden.  As  she  leaned  there,  a  whis- 
per came  up  to  her,  cutting  the  silence  like  a  blade. 

"  Adelaide  !  " 

She  turned  quickly  to  the  side  where  the  steps 
went  down,  and  saw  Vittorio  leaning  on  the  gate  be- 
low. That  part  of  the  garden  had  no  lamps,  but  a 
dim,  rich  light  shone  out  through  a  purple  curtain 
over  his  beautiful  face. 

She  glanced  about  her,  then  ran  hastily  down  to 
him.  He  stretched  his  hands,  caught  hers  in  a  strong 
grasp,  and  held  her. 

"  My  poor  Vittorio! "  she  whispered. 

"  Why  did  you  invite  that  Monteforte  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  have  been  up  there  looking  in,  and  I 
was  tempted  to  rush  in  among  them  all,  and  tell  who 
I  am,  and  say  that  I  am  your  lover,  in  the  hope  that 
some  one  would  kill  me.  But  here,  Adelaide,  let  me 
die  here ! "  He  bowed  his  head  forward  on  her 


190  BY  THE    TIBER. 

bosom.  "Have  yon  the  courage  to  plunge  the  dagger 
in  my  neck  ?  It  does  not  require  much  strength. 
You  have  kissed  me.  Do  me  the  only  other  grace 
possible :  kill  me  ! " 

"Hush!"  she  whispered  soothingly.  "Some  one 
will  hear.  You  are  cruel." 

"  Nothing  hurts  you  women  of  the  world,"  he  said, 
raising  his  head.  "  You  have  ways  of  escaping.  But 
for  me  there  is  only  one  escape.  Let  my  blood  flow 
where  my  life  has  died,  at  your  feet.  Kiss  me  once 
again  and  strike.  I  turn  my  head.  You  will  not  ? 
Then,  I  —  " 

"  You  are  mad  !  "  she  whispered,  arresting  his  arm. 
"  Let  me  go  now,  and  I  will  come  out  later.  When 
they  are  gone,  I  will  come." 

As  his  hand  relaxed  its  hold,  she  snatched  her  own 
away,  and  fled  up  the  stair. 

He  opened  the  gate,  and  seemed  about  to  follow, 
hesitated,  then  turned  away.  She  was  coining  again 
later. 

A  burst  of  brighter  light  shone  over  him,  a  hand 
swept  aside  the  purple  curtain  of  the  alcove  window, 
and  a  quick  step  followed  him. 

Vittorio  turned. 

"  Go  on ! "  said  the  Cardinal  commandingly.  "  I 
must  see  you !  If  you  are  not  a  coward,  lead  to  the 
light." 

Vittorio,  without  a  word,  led  to  the  grove  of  Un- 
dine, leaned  back  against  one  of  the  large  pine  boles, 
and,  folding  his  arms,  waited  to  be  addressed. 

The  prelate  recoiled  a  little  at  sight  of  his  face  and 
dress.  "  Who  are  you  ? "  he  exclaimed. 

Vittorio  smiled.  "  I  am  two  men.  I  am  the  only 
son  of  the  late  Duke  of  Monteforte,  and  I  am  Vittorio, 
the  gardener." 

The  Cardinal  was  confounded.  He  stared  a  mo- 
ment, then  his  eyes  fell.  He  began  to  walk  slowly  to 


REJECTED   HELP.  191 

and  fro  on  the  dewy  turf.  The  delicate  golden  lights 
glimmered  on  his  pale  face,  on  the  rustling  red  silk  of 
his  robe,  on  the  little  red  skull-cap  set  on  his  thin  gray 
hair  ;  and  when  he  caught  his  robe  about  him  away 
from  the  dew  and  his  steps,  the  fairy  radiance  played 
with  his  shoe-buckles,  found  out  the  red  of  his  stock- 
ings, and  lighted  another  lamp  in  the  diamond-rimmed 
emerald  on  his  right  hand. 

At  length  he  paused  before  Vittorio.  "  Are  you  not 
afraid  of  what  they  may  do  to  you?"  he  asked  gently. 

"  Not  in  the  least ! "  was  the  brief  reply. 

The  Cardinal  paused  an  instant  to  look  at  him,  then 
walked  across  the  sward,  and,  coming  back,  paused 
again.  "  Are  you  not  afraid  of  what  may  happen  to 
her  ? "  he  asked. 

"  What  can  they  do  to  her  ? "  demanded  Vittorio. 
"  They  can  only  beat  her  and  shut  her  up.  I  wish 
they  would ! " 

"  Yet  you  were  pleading  like  a  lover  ten  minutes 
ago,"  the  prelate  said,  looking  at  him  steadily.  "  Do 
you  not,  then,  love  her  ? " 

"  Love  her  !  "  repeated  Vittorio  passionately.  "  She 
is  too  cruel,  too  false  !  " 

"  You  hate  her,  then  ? "  said  the  other,  still  re- 
garding him  fixedly. 

Vittorio  caught  his  breath,  and  held  it  a  moment. 
"  Hate  her !  "  he  said,  with  a  slight  faltering  of  the 
voice.  "  I  have  felt  her  little  hand  steal  into  mine. 
1  have  felt  her  brow  with  all  its  braided  hair  nestle 
into  iny  neck.  To-night,  even,  she  kissed  me,  and  I 
seem  to  feel  a  roseleaf  yet  on  my  forehead  where  her 
lips  were." 

"  What,  then,  do  you  wish  for  ?  "  pursued  the  Car- 
dinal quietly. 

Vittorio,  in  his  turn,  began  to  walk  to  and  fro. 
ask  back  my  youth  and  my  trust !   I  ask  a  motive  for 
living  !   I  have  nothing  and  I  am  nothing ! " 


192  BY  THE   TIBER. 

The  listener's  eyes  brightened.  A  solution  of  the 
difficulty  had  occurred  to  him  the  moment  he  knew 
who  Vittorio  was. 

"  You  can  be  something  if  you  will  live  for  God  ! " 
he  said,  with  earnest  haste,  taking  a  step  nearer. 
"  Only  one  life  can  give  harmony  and  peace  to  a  man 
in  your  position.  It  is  not  yet  too  late.  I  will  place 
you  in  a  monastery  where  you  can  study.  I  am  sure 
that  you  have  talent.  And  you  shall  have  a  career. 
As  you  are  now,  you  will  always  be  discontented  and 
violent.  Your  life  will  be  one  of  strife  and  of  peril. 
You  will  always  be  hoping  for  impossible  tbings. 
But  leave  all  this,  give  yourself  to  God,  and  he  will 
give  you  peace.  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  for  you." 

Vittorio  made  a  decided  gesture  of  denial.  "  It  is 
too  late.  If  Jesus  Christ  and  his  Apostles  would 
come  by  now,  I  would  follow  them  to  the  seaside,  the 
desert,  the  cross.  But  a  monastery,  no."  He  pointed 
at  the  silken  robe  and  the  ring.  "  I  would  not  do  it 
to  wear  those  !  " 

A  faint  blush  colored  the  prelate's  cheeks,  and 
tears  started  to  his  eyes.  "  You  are  rash  and  unjust," 
he  said.  "  When  you  change  your  mind,  come  to  me, 
and  I  will  be  your  friend.  And,  meantime,  remem- 
ber this,  that  a  chaste  and  humble  heart  may  beat 
under  a  silken  robe,  and  a  proud  and  sinful  one  under 
a  blouse." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  went  back  to  the  house 
with  a  swift,  light  step,  entered  by  the  alcove  win- 
dow, and  went  up  to  the  great  drawing-rooms. 

The  last  visitors  had  just  taken  leave,  and  the 
Prince  and  his  son-in-law  were  disappearing  toward 
the  smoking-room.  Only  the  Countess  stood  in  the 
farthest  chamber,  and  looked  down  the  long  vista 
where  the  servants  were  already  extinguishing  the 
candles.  One  room  after  another  was  growing  dim 
before  her,  when  she  saw  far  away  the  form  of  Cardi- 


REJECTED  HELP.  193 

nal  Merouda   coming  up  toward  the   still  brilliant 
chamber  where  she  stood. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  not  yet  sleepy,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly, as  she  went  to  meet  him.  "  And  I  am  glad  of 
it,  for  I  want  to  say  a  few  words  to  you.  Will  you 
do  me  the  favor  to  come  to  the  chapel  a  moment  ? " 

She  gave  him  a  startled  glance,  and  the  blood  redly 
bathed  her  face  and  neck  as  she  stammered  an  as- 
sent. 

He  turned,  called  her  to  his  side  with  a  gesture, 
and  walked  past  the  servants  with  her,  giving  them  a 
smiling  glance  as  they  bowed  before  him,  and  raising 
his  hand  to  bless  one  who  knelt. 

"I  have  promised  Prince  Borghese  to  go  out  to  see 
them  at  Frascati  to-morrow,"  he  said,  loudly  enough  to 
be  heard  by  all,  "  and  I  shall  probably  be  off  while 
you  are  still  sleeping  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  certainly  see  you  before  you  go  ! "  she 
exclaimed  anxiously. 

"  I  shall  not  expect  to  see  you."  They  were  now 
in  the  corridors,  and  his  words  fell  with  a  chill  pre- 
cision. Eeaching  the  chapel,  he  entered,  and  left  her 
to  follow  as  she  might.  It  was  ominous. 

This  chapel,  built  by  a  cardinal  belonging  to  the 
family  which  had  formerly  owned  the  villa,  was  fur- 
nished in  singularly  pure  taste.  It  was  like  the  inside 
of  a  golden  casket.  The  walls  were  lined  with  gold- 
colored  satin  damask,  laid  plain,  without  an  ornament 
or  a  picture.  Only  over  the  altar  was  a  St.  Joseph. 
A  sanctuary  lamp  hung  high,  and  threw  a  soft  light 
through  the  sacred  stillness.  Under  the  lamp  was  a 
prie-dieu,  and  beside  it  a  chair. 

Both  bent  their  knees  before  the  altar ;  then  the 
Cardinal  seated  himself,  and  the  Countess  knelt  on 
the  prie-dieu  beside,  and  a  very  little  behind,  him. 
Her  heart  was  beating  thickly. 

"  I  was  reading  my  office  in  the  lower  alcove  cham- 
13 


194  BY  THE   TIBER. 

her  when  you  met  that  unfortunate  young  man  in  the 
loggia"  he  said  abruptly.  "  I  have  been  talking  with 
him.  What  have  you  to  say  ? " 

She  had  nothing  to  say.  Terrified  and  over- 
whelmed, she  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands,  and 
while  he  waited,  she  sobbed. 

"  I  shall  go  away  to-morrow  morning,"  he  resumed. 
"The  question  is,  whether  I  shall  go  in  silence,  or  talk 
first  with  your  father.  Have  you  nothing  to  say?" 

She  broke  out  into  entreaties,  protestations,  and 
excuses.  She  hated  her  husband,  she  had  pitied  Vit- 
torio  —  and  —  and  —  she  was  sorry.  She  would 
never  — 

"  You  have  promised  to  see  him  again  to-night," 
he  interrupted.  "  I  forbid  you !  " 

"  Oh,  I  will  obey  you  in  anything ! "  she  began  ; 
but  again  he  interrupted  her,  speaking  with  a  sort  of 
passion. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you,  Adela  !  Only  this  morn- 
ing you  invited  the  Lord  to  enter  your  heart.  You 
forced  him  to  come,  and  he  could  not  refuse  without 
performing  a  miracle.  He  has  placed  himself  help- 
less in  our  hands  in  the  Eucharist  —  as  helpless  as  he 
was  when  an  infant  on  earth  —  more  helpless,  since 
he  has  no  longer  a  Mary  and  Joseph  to  protect  him. 
The  helplessness  of  the  Infant  Jesus  was  pitiful ; 
the  helplessness  of  our  Lord  in  the  Divine  Sacrament 
is  terrible!  It  is  an  abandonment  of  love  so  utter 
that  only  damnation  is  a  fit  punishment  for  one  who 
despises  and  insults  it.  You  believe  that  his  passion 
ended  long  ago  ?  Not  so.  He  is  still  bound  to  our 
stony  hearts  and  scourged  by  our  passions.  Every 
day  Judas  kisses  him  anew,  and  Peter  denies  him, 
and  the  Apostles  stand  afar  off  while  he  is  crucified. 
Every  day  men  and  women  who  call  themselves 
Christians,  while  their  hearts  are  full  of  worse  than 
pagan  malice,  come  to  the  altar  and  mock  him,  '  Hail, 


REJECTED  HELP.  195 

King  of  the  Jews!'  He  was  in  your  heart  this  morn- 
ing. Was  he  as  mute  there  as  he  was  long  ago  be- 
fore his  accusers,  or  did  lie  speak  ?  If  he  was  mute, 
how  dare  I  speak  ?  If  he  spoke  in  vain,  what  can  I 
say  ? " 

He  ceased,  and  she  only  wept. 

"  Do  you  remember  your  first  Communion,  Adela  ?" 
he  went  on  more  softly.  "  I  went  to  the  convent 
where  you  were  prepared  for  it,  and  said  the  Mass 
for  you.  You  were  a  child  then.  Oh,  you  must 
have  been  innocent !  Can  you  not  recollect  that  you 
were  happy  ?  And  were  you  happy  this  morning  ?  Are 
you  so  hardened  that  you  could  be  indifferent  ?  The 
Magdalen  came  weeping  before  the  crowd,  and  caring 
nothing  for  them.  She  washed  his  feet  with  her  tears, 
while  they  reviled  her.  The  dust  on  his  feet  were 
her  jewels.  But  she  was  loving.  And  you  —  you 
are  false  and  cruel.  Nothing  will  recall  you  till  you 
are  crushed  by  some  great  misfortune.  If  the  guilt  of 
blood  is  not  on  you  now,  it  will  be.  You  played  with 
fire  when  you  cast  your  eyes  on  this  Vittorio.  A  man 
of  the  world  has  some  prudence ;  but  this  one  has 
nothing  to  lose,  and  he  knows  no  bounds.  Only  your 
perfect  repentance  will  save  you  from  him,  and  him 
from  you." 

Still  those  weak,  hysterical  sobs.  He  could  not 
bear  them  ;  for  he  knew  that  they  only  meant  grief  at 
having  been  found  out.  He  rose  abruptly. 

"  I  leave  you  to  God,"  he  said.  "  Never  let  me  see 
your  face  again  till  it  is  the  face  of  a  true  penitent. 
And  if  ever  you  should  come  to  me  so,  Adela,  I  will 
receive  you  with  a  love  and  joy  that  no  words  can 
express  ;  and  the  sorrowing  woman  will  be  dearer 
and  nobler  in  my  eyes  than  ever  was  the  innocent 
child." 

His  voice  trembled  slightly.  He  turned  hastily 
away,  and  left  her  before  the  altar. 


196  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  That  Vittorio ! "  she  muttered  when  the  door  had 
closed,  and  there  was  a  shudder  of  passion  in  her 
voice.  "  I  could  tear  his  heart  out ! " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE   END. 

VALERIA'S  winter  was  scarcely  a  pleasant  one, 
though  she  rejoiced  in  having  a  house  of  her 
own.  There  are  troubles  against  which  we  cannot 
bar  our  doors. 

Monsignor  Fenelon  had  been  sent  by  the  Pope  on  a 
mission  which  would  detain  him  out  of  Rome  several 
years,  and  she  was  sorry  to  lose  him.  Towards  spring 
Monsignor  Nestore  died. 

The  occasional  conversation  of  these  two  men  had 
been  a  pleasure  to  her,  and  their  advice  and  counte- 
nance invaluable.  Besides,  in  a  society  which  has, 
perhaps,  a  lower  tone  than  any  other  in  the  world,  it 
was  a  privilege  to  know  two  persons  whose  minds 
dwelt  habitually  in  the  piano  nobile  of  existence. 

She  had  still  another  cause  of  disturbance,  and  one 
that  involved  a  mystery  which  for  some  time  she  was 
not  able  to  fathom. 

In  one  of  those  days  of  early  spring  Miss  Pendleton 
came  to  see  her,  and  was  received  with  an  affectionate 
welcome.  She  had  seen  this  lady  several  times  since 
their  first  meeting  in  Casa  Passarina,  and  the  slight 
unfavorable  impression  made  on  her  at  that  time  had 
worn  off.  It  could  not  resist  the  invariable  sweetness 
and  kindly  interest  which  the  lady  had  displayed  to- 
ward her.  With  the  most  of  us  a  good  person  means 
one  who  is  good  to  us. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  197 

The  object  of  Miss  Pendleton's  visit  was  to  pur- 
suade  Valeria  to  give  up  her  house,  and  go  to  live  in 
a  convent  which  her  visitor  would  recommend.  But 
this  object  was  revealed  only  after  a  long  preparatory 
conversation. 

To  Valeria,  as  to  others,  Miss  Pendleton  was  a  nun 
in  all  but  name,  and  therefore  a  privileged  person.  A 
Catholic  never  looks  upon  a  religious  as  a  stranger. 
The  first  impulse  is,  not  only  to  pay  a  particular  re- 
spect to  those  who  have  been  in  an  especial  man- 
ner devoted  to  God,  but  to  regard  them  with  an 
affectionate  confidence.  They  may  enter  where  others 
may  riot ;  they  may  ask  questions  which  are  not  per- 
mitted to  an  ordinary  friend ;  and  confidences  are 
spontaneously  made  to  them  on  a  short  acquaintance 
which  would  scarcely  be  made  to  the  tried  friend  of 
many  years. 

Nothing  is  more  sweet  and  nothing  should  be  more 
sacred  than  such  a  confidence,  both  to  those  who  give 
and  to  those  who  receive  it.  One  who  has  renounced 
those  family  ties  which  we  fancy  will  bring  happi- 
ness, though  they  as  often  bring  misery,  and  that 
possible  freedom  of  will  which  might  never  have  had 
its  way,  is  consoled  when  he  sees  a  broader  and  more 
devoted  family  gather  about  him,  and  affection  and 
confidence  spring  up  wherever  he  treads.  The  priv- 
ileges of  people  in  religion  are,  in  fact,  greater  than 
their  renunciations;  but  that  does  not  lessen  the 
merit  of  the  sacrifice  ;  for  in  thus  devoting  them- 
selves, they  renounce  not  only  what  they  have  and 
might  be  sure  of,  but  that  which  their  highest  hopes 
and  imaginations  tell  them  the  future  might  have 
brought  them.  And  on  the  other  hand,  in  our  esti- 
mate of  religious,  we  recognize  not  only  their  sacred 
profession;  we  regard  with  a  reverent  enthusiasm 
that  element  of  Christian  heroism  which  we  do  not 
doubt  of  finding  in  their  characters.  We  have  ever 


198  BY  THE    TIBER. 

before  our  imagination  that  sublime  hour  in  which, 
nailing  their  quivering  souls  to  the  cross  in  the  sight 
of  all,  they  swore  to  die  to  the  world,  and  live  thence- 
forth only  in  God. 

The  soul  which  returns  to  worldly  goods  and 
worldly  ways  after  having  been  shut  into  the  sepul- 
chre of  Christ  by  such  a  vow  is  a  moral  putrefaction 
and  a  minister  of  death. 

Valeria  had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  those 
who  have  thus  separated  themselves  from  the  \vorld. 
She  replied,  therefore,  simply  and  fully  to  the  many 
questions  which  Miss  Pendleton  asked  about  her  most 
private  affairs,  wondering  a  little  sometimes,  but  never 
doubting  that  they  were  justified  by  the  most  sincere 
and  noble  friendship,  and  the  intention  of  preserving 
the  most  inviolable  secrecy.  Viewed  in  any  other 
light,  the  lady's  inquisition  would  have  been  the 
height  of  impudence. 

But  when  the  proposal  was  made  for  her  to  leave 
her  house,  she  protested. 

"Why!  I  have  only  just  taken  it,"  she  exclaimed 
in  astonishment.  "  And  I  have  always  wanted  and 
needed  a  house  of  my  own.  Why  should  I  change  ? " 

Miss  Pendleton  calmly  persisted,  ignoring  argu- 
ments and  opposition ;  and  she  gave  no  reason  for  her 
advice,  except  that  a  house  must  be  expensive.  But 
when  Valeria  showed  her  account  of  expenses,  and 
proved  that  she  could  nowhere  else  have  what  she 
needed  for  less,  her  visitor  betrayed  clearly  that  this 
had  been  an  excuse,  and  not  a  motive.  Neither  did 
her  plea  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  pursue  her 
writing  in  a  convent  have  any  effect.  Her  visitor, 
who  was  uneducated  and  unimaginative,  believed  that 
where  one  could  knit  a  stocking  one  could  write  a 
book.  She  was  one  of  the  innumerable  company 
described  by  Liszt,  who  "  aspire  to  give  laws  in  prov- 
inces to  which  nature  has  denied  them,  entrance." 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  199 

Moreover,  it  did  not  seem  to  matter  whether  Valeria 
could  write  or  not. 

"  If  you  will  do  what  we  wish,"  Miss  Pendleton 
said,  "  we  will  give  you  any  necessary  help,  if  you 
should  ever  have  need." 

The  matter  had  evidently  been  arranged  already; 
but  with  whom  ?  and  for  what  reason  ? 

The  proposal  was  at  once  cruel  and  tempting.  That 
indefinite  promise  of  friendly  interest,  oversight,  and 
aid  was  particularly  pleasant  to  one  who  found  the 
world  too  rough  to  be  willingly  faced  alone.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  her  life  had  already  suffered  too  much 
from  the  misconceptions  and  impositions  of  others  for 
her  to  consent  to  place  herself  now  unreservedly  in 
the  hands  of  unknown  persons  that  they  might  do 
what  they  would  with  her.  If  any  reason  worthy  of  a 
reasonable  person  had  been  offered,  or  any  hint  of 
danger  given,  she  would  have  considered  the  question, 
and  possibly  have  yielded ;  but  the  consent  required 
of  her  was  a  blind  one,  and  for  that  Miss  Pendleton 
and  her  unknown  company  had  most  certainly  come 
to  the  wrong  person. 

When,  astonished,  distressed,  and  confused,  Valeria 
begged  for  time  to  think  over  the  proposal,  her  vis- 
it or  passed  froman  ever- disproved,  yet  ever- renewed 
argument  to  pleading.  She  had  taken  this  matter 
before  God,  she  said,  and  asked  for  light  upon  it,  and 
she  believed  that  her  advice  was  such  as  should  be 
followed. 

Irritated  by  a  persistence  which  seemed  invincible, 
Valeria  could  not  but  think  that  she  was  able  to  pray 
about  her  own  affairs,  and  that  if  Miss  Pendleton  had 
been  made  the  medium  of  an  illumination  regarding 
them,  she  had  failed  to  reflect  any  light  to  the  person 
most  interested. 

Utterly  exhausted  at  length  with  the  combat,  she 
proposed  to  write  to  Monsignor  Fenelon  on  the  sub- 


200  BY  THE    TIBER. 

ject,  and  abide  by  his  decision,  and  with  this,  her  vis- 
itor was  forced  to  be  content. 

The  interview  lasted  more  than  two  hours. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Pendleton  was  gone,  Valeria 
wrote  the  promised  letter,  and  sent  her  servant  out 
with  it. 

It  was  already  past  noon,  and  she  sat  down  by  the 
garden  window  to  quiet  her  disturbed  mind ;  and,  sit- 
ting there,  she  reviewed  her  mode  of  life,  and  tried  to 
discover  if  any  fault  could  be  found  in  it. 

Every  morning  she  went  to  Mass,  and  thus  had  a 
short  walk.  Besides  that,  she  seldom  went  out,  ex- 
cept when  obliged  to  do  so.  The  morning  was  spent 
in  study  or  writing ;  in  the  afternoon  she  usually  saw 
one  or  two  visitors.  At  Ave  Maria  her  doors  were 
closed  for  the  night.  "  Could  any  life  be  more  harm- 
less or  more  guarded  ? "  she  asked  herself. 

That  part  of  the  garden  directly  before  her  eyes  was 
completely  hidden  from  the  palace  by  groves  of  orange- 
trees,  oleanders,  and  camellias.  Under  a  clump  of 
oleanders,  at  the  farther  side,  stood  two  persons,  the 
sight  of  whom  made  Valeria  start  to  her  feet.  Some 
rose-bushes  nearer  by  hid  half  their  figures ;  but  there 
stood  Vittorio  and  the  Countess  Belvedere,  she  leaning 
with  her  clasped  hands  on  his  shoulder,  talking  rapidly 
and  coaxingly,  and  caressing  him  now  and  then ;  lie, 
with  his  arm  around  her,  gazing  searchingly  into  her 
face.  It  was  evidently  no  new  thing.  The  gardener 
showed  no  sign  of  surprise,  and  no  flutter  of  pleasure 
or  elation.  He  merely  gazed  with  those  searching 
eyes  that  were  almost  stern.  He  did  riot  move  ;  but 
the  lady  kept  glancing  behind  her  toward  the  palace, 
as  if  afraid  that  some  one  might  discover  her. 

As  Valeria  gazed,  fixed  and  breathless,  the  Countess 
glanced  at  the  casuccia,  perceived  that  they  were  in 
sight  of  its  window,  without  seeing  any  one  in  it,  and 
hastily  drew  Vittorio  behind  the  trees  at  their  side. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  201 

A  moment  later  she  was  visible  gliding  rapidly  toward 
the  palace,  slipping  from  tree  to  tree,  and  avoiding  the 
windows  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  rose-garden. 

Valeria  took  breath,  and  sat  down.  She  felt  a  little 
faint.  She  sat  thinking,  looking  backward  through 
the  months  she  had  passed  in  that  house.  She  recol- 
lected the  delightful  evenings  that  she  had  spent  in 
the  dark  at  that  window,  when  often  she  had  seen  a 
shadow  slip  from  tree  to  tree,  as  the  Countess  Belve- 
dere had  done  just  now.  She  had  thought  nothing 
of  it.  She  recollected  all  that  Miss  Crorno  had  told 
her  of  this  woman,  —  stories  that  at  the  time  had  made 
not  the  least  impression  upon  her,  but  which  now  had 
a  new  meaning. 

It  is  a  terrible  moment  when  first  we  know  that  there 
is  crime  in  the  world.  We  have  heard  of  it  all  our 
lives ;  but  it  was  always  afar  off.  Possibly  some  one 
was  pointed  out  to  us  as  the  sinner;  but  we  could  not 
realize  it.  Surely  no  one  near  enough  to  touch  us 
was  guilty  of  crime.  We  carry  our  ignorance  as  a 
lamp  that  makes  a  circle  of  light  all  about  us  wherever 
we  go.  The  shadows  are  ever  beyond.  Then  sudden- 
ly we  find  hanging  close  by  us  the  little  string  which, 
if  pulled,  will  bring  the  thunderbolt  down. 

Valeria  sat  thinking.  "  How  that  woman  must  want 
me  to  go  away  from  here  !  "  she  said  at  last ;  then 
started  at  a  sudden  thought.  "  Pshaw  !  what  non- 
sense ! "  she  added.  "  But,  certainly,  the  Countess 
Belvedere  cannot  like  to  have  me  here." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  sent  Marta  to  ask  Miss  Cro- 
mo  if  she  was  too  busy  to  receive  her  a  little  while. 

The  girl  returned  saying  that  Miss  Cromo  would  be 
glad  to  see  her ;  and  Valeria  went  down. 

"  I  have  come  to  play  Saul  to  your  David,"  she  said. 
" I  am  out  of  spirits.  Are  you  in  a  tuneful  mood?" 

"I  suppose  Miss  Pendleton  has  been  talking  re- 
ligion to  you,"  Miss  Cromo  said.  "  I  happened  to  be 


202  BY  THE   TIBER. 

putting  down  the  curtains  this  forenoon  when  she 
went  away,  looking  the  very  essence  of  a  little  sancti- 
monious bore.  What  has  she  been  catechising  you 
about  ? " 

"She  has  made  me  hate  the  interrogative  mood," 
Valeria  replied.  "  It  would  bore  us  both  to  repeat 
her  conversation ;  though,  after  all,  she  is  very  good 
and  kind.  She  made  me  tired,  that  is  all.  Don't  you 
dislike  to  hear  a  person  say  the  same  thing  twice  ? 
Only  nightingales  and  lovers  should  repeat  themselves. 
Tautology  is  a  demon.  What  were  those  old  stories 
about  demons  that  were  first  a  lion,  then  a  tiger,  then 
a  serpent,  and  so  on,  fighting  somebody  under  all  of 
those  forms  ?  How  confusing  it  must  have  been ! " 

"  She  is  very  prying  and  meddlesome,"  Miss  Cromo 
replied  with  decision.  "  They  say  that  she  questions 
people's  servant-girls  about  their  family  affairs.  Miss 
Campbell  —  you  know  her,  she  is  one  of  your  nere  — 
told  me  that  Miss  Pendleton  wanted  her  to  join  some 
pious  association  or  other  that  they  have  over  there, 
and  her  confessor  told  her  not  to.  He  said  that  it  was  a 
gossiping  assembly,  and  that  they  wanted  to  know 
and  direct  everybody's  affairs.  And  that,  my  dear, 
was  an  Italian  priest.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  you 
can  ask  Miss  Campbell." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  Valeria  said.  Then  after  a  while 
she  added,  "  I  don't  wonder  that  the  Turks  call  us 
'  dogs  of  Christians.'  I  don't  suppose  there  ever  was  a 
more  insincere  set  of  people  on  earth  than  professed 
Christians.  We  have  n't  a  virtue  in  which  the  pagans 
have  not  excelled  us.  Compromising,  we  lose  all 
The  motto  of  Christianity  should  be  in  estrcmo  ratio. 
There  is  no  middle  course." 

"  They  are  all  alike,"  Miss  Cromo  declared.  "  It  is 
all  a  sham." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  Valeria  replied.  "  I  know  so  many  good 
people.  But  I  have  always  said  that  the  worst  enemies 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  203 

of  the  church  are  within  the  church,  and  that  much  of 
the  hatred  and  distrust  which  outsiders  feel  is  perfectly 
excusable.  There  is  no  country  nor  sect  which  would 
not  honor  a  true  Christian.  We  need  the  apostolical 
virtues  back  again,  and  there  is  nothing  else  which 
will  save  society.  We  need  the  glorious  old  courage, 
and  imprudence,  and  literal  obedience  to  God.  We 
need  adversity.  Christianity  is  one  of  those  plants 
that  is  fragrant  only  when  it  is  crushed.  —  By  the 
way,"  she  added  suddenly,  "  have  you  ever  been  ac- 
quainted with  the  Countess  Belvedere  ? " 

Miss  Cromo  was  in  an  uncommonly  amiable  and 
truthful  mood.  "  I  was  introduced  to  her  once  at  a 
friend's  house,  and  talked  with  her  for  half  an  hour ; 
and  the  next  day,  meeting  her,  I  bowed.  She  stared 
at  me,  and  passed  me  by." 

"  I  wonder  you  would  bow  to  such  a  woman  as  you 
say  she  is,"  Valeria  remarked. 

"  My  dear,  she  is  the  '  very  best  of  bad  company  ! ' " 

"  Nevertheless,  if  I  were  introduced  to  her  I  would 
not  salute  her,"  Valeria  declared.  "  If  she  should  come 
to  my  door,  I  would  n't  allow  her  to  come  in." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  you  pretend  to  despise  society ! " 
Miss  Cromo  said.  "  But  I  am  not  so  sublime." 

"  You  mistake,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  Although 
I  agree  with  Voltaire,  that  '  Good  society  is  a  scat- 
tered republic,  of  which  we  encounter  a  member  now 
and  then,'  still  I  was  never  so  silly  as  to  pretend  to 
despise  that  which  calls  itself  good  society.  It  is  the 
guardian  of  the  elegances  of  life  if  not  of  its  loftier 
verities,  of  its  proprieties  if  not  of  its  honesties. 
Then  it  makes  a  fair  setting  to  those  human  jewels 
whose  fortune  it  is  to  seem,  as  well  as  to  be,  great. 
That  it  does  not  always  recognize  or  respect  rough 
diamonds  is  nothing  against  it,  any  more  than  it  is 
its  fault  if  it  sometimes  frames  pudding-stone.  Cut 
you  must  be  in  one  way  or  the  other.  Why,  even 


204  BY  THE   TIBER. 

the  Koh-i-noor  was  not  chic  till  it  was  cut.  The  chief 
fault  of  some  people  in  society  is  the  believing  that  it 
is  everybody's  Grand  Mogul,  just  as  it  is  their  own. 
And  another  fault  is  that  it  will  pretend  to  be  good, 
instead  of  being  content  to  be  only  pretty." 

"  It  was  never  immorality  which  excluded  a  person 
from  society;  it  was  bad  style,"  said  Miss  Croino,  who 
pretended  to  know  all  about  the  matter. 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  pre- 
tend to  be  so  very  moral  ? " 

"It  would  be  bad  style  not  to  pretend  to  be  moral," 
was  the  reply.  "  If  you  don't  want  to  hear  any  lies, 
you  must  n't  ask  any  questions.  Society  isn't  a  father 
confessor.  All  it  asks  is,  '  Are  your  boots  blacked  ? ' 
Vulgarity  can  come  in,  and  vice  can  come  in,  and  the 
devil  is  welcome ;  but  they  must  black  their  boots. 
It  is  de  riyueur." 

They  talked  of  other  things,  and  presently  Valeria 
returned  to  her  apartment. 

Evening  came,  and  she  knew  not  what  to  do.  The 
serpent  had  appeared  in  her  paradise,  and  she  could 
take  no  pleasure  in  looking  out  there.  Yet  she  went 
into  her  studio,  and  seated  herself  back  from  the 
window.  It  was  possible  to  see  the  sky,  at  least. 

Some  one,  Vittorio  probably,  was  locking  the  gate 
under  her  window,  and  she  heard  the  voice  of  the 
Countess  Belvedere's  maid  talking  with  him. 

"  The  Countess  has  gone  to  the  opera,"  she  said. 

Ah !  then  the  garden  was  clear.  Valeria  waited 
till  they  had  gone  away,  then  took  her  seat  near  the 
window.  Disturbed  and  wakeful  as  she  felt,  that 
quiet  hour  was  more  than  ever  necessary  to  her. 

The  window  looked  toward  the  north,  with  glimpses 
of  east  and  west,  if  one  leaned  out.  There  was  no 
moon,  and  the  stars  almost  danced  with  brightness. 
There  was  the  North  Star  with  its  ever-circling  com- 
panions. Dim,  and  far,  yet  steadfast,  it  burned  like 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  205 

a  hope  of  heaven  seen  through  the  mists  of  earth. 
How  many  a  time  she  had  seen  those  northern  stars 
shining  over  feathery  snow-drifts  or  glittering  snow- 
crust,  with  the  cold,  pure  blood  of  the  Northern  Lights 
sweeping  over  them  in  delicate  fleeting  blushes ! 

Now  there  were  roses  and  ripening  oranges  down 
in  the  garden  dusk  under  their  slowly  circling  lamps. 

She  leaned  out,  and  saw  the  gardener's  window 
alight  and  open,  a  wide  arched  window  framed  in 
jasmine.  In  the  midst  of  the  light  sat  Vittorio,  read- 
ing, his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  hands  buried  in 
his  hair  at  either  side.  Behind  him  in  the  yellow 
wall  was  a  little  blue  niche  with  a  white  Madonna 
in  it.  The  lamp  was  a  long  brass  one  with  movable 
burner,  and  all  three  of  the  wicks  were  lighted. 

"  Three  lights  are  an  evil  sign,  Vittorio,"  said  Vale- 
ria ;  "  and  you  are  in  an  evil  way,  poor  boy  ! " 

He  looked  like  an  old  picture  on  a  gold  ground ;  the 
yellow  walls  and  light  glowed  about  him. 

She  observed  after  a  while  that  he  did  not  stir,  nor 
turn  a  leaf  of  his  book,  and  that  his  hands  were 
pressed  behind  his  ears,  not  over  them.  He  seemed 
to  be  listening  intensely. 

There  was  a  slight  sound  under  her  window,  and 
the  gate  was  softly  opened.  Valeria  drew  noiselessly 
back.  There  was  a  faint,  rustling  step ;  then  a  shadow 
crept  up  the  stair,  and  away  toward  the  palace.  The 
gate  was  softly  closed  again. 

Leaning  out,  she  saw  Vittorio  stirring  uneasily. 
He  turned  the  leaves  of  the  book,  pushed  his  hair 
back,  and  at  last  rose,  and,  taking  a  lanthorn,  came 
out  into  the  garden,  and  walked  about.  He  came 
and  tried  the  gate.  It  was  locked.  All  was  silent. 

Valeria  drew  back  terrified.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  watching  for  or  suspecting  some  one  who 
had  come  in  by  the  gate. 

He  returned  to  his  house  and  shut  himself  in. 


206  BY  THE    TIBER. 

Valeria  went  to  her  bedroom  and  locked  the  door, 
bidding  Marta  close  the  studio  window.  "  And  take 
a  light  with  you,"  she  said. 

"  If  any  one  should  look,  they  will  see  that  I  am 
not  there,"  she  thought. 

In  a  few  days  Valeria  received  an  answer  to  her 
letter  to  Monsignor  Fenelon.  He  saw  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  remain  where  she  was. 

She  gave  his  letter  to  Miss  Pendleton. 

"  Very  well,"  the  lady  said,  and  made  no  further 
opposition.  "  But  if  you  had  gone  we  should  have 
been  ready  to  do  anything  for  you." 

It  was  her  only  intimation  of  displeasure,  and  her 
only  intimation  of  diminished  friendliness. 

It  was  April  now,  that  heavenly  season  of  Rome 
when  the  shade  is  yet  cool,  though  the  sun  is  hot;  the 
season  of  wild-flowers,  of  drives  to  the  Villas  Bor- 
ghese  and  Painfili-Doria,  and  of  loiterings  in  the 
sunny  spaces,  or  sun-flecked  dusky  avenues  of  Villa 
Medici.  Valeria  began  to  feel  seriously  the  restraint 
which  is  placed  upon  the  movements  of  unattended 
ladies ;  for,  having  but  few  acquaintances,  she  was 
often  obliged  to  go  out  alone.  It  struck  her  that  it  was 
becoming  uncommonly  disagreeable  for  her  to  do  so. 

She  mentioned  the  subject  to  Miss  Cromo. 

"  We  cannot  help  ourselves,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
have  several  times  been  grossly  insulted  in  the  streets 
here ;  but  I  always  pretend  to  know  nothing  about 
it.  Only  last  week  the  Countess  Mariui  was  followed 
the  whole  length  of  the  Corso,  in  broad  daylight,  and 
treated  in  such  a  manner  that  the  attention  of  every- 
body was  called  to  her.  And  she  had  another  lady 
with  her." 

"  But,"  Valeria  urged,  "  these  are  such  men  as  do 
not  notice  ladies.  They  look  like  well-dressed  work- 
ingmen.  I  should  guess  them  to  be  low  fellows  who 
had  just  drawn  a  prize  in  the  lottery." 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  207 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  Miss  Cromo  declared. 

Valeria  sat  a  moment  in  troubled  silence.  "  Is 
there  anything  odd  in  my  dress  ?  "  she  asked  then, 
rising  to  turn  herself  about  before  the  mirror.  "  Is 
there  anything  that  would  be  likely  to  attract  atten- 
tion ? " 

"  What  should  there  be,  my  dear  ? "  Miss  Cromo 
exclaimed.  "  Your  dress  and  your  behavior  are  both 
perfectly  modest.  You  are  merely  suffering  an  an- 
noyance which  none  but  ugly  old  women  can  escape. 
It  isn't  worth  crying  about." 

Valeria  was  not  satisfied,  but  she  said  no  more.  It 
was  impossible  to  put  the  subject  out  of  her  mind ; 
for,  without  suspecting  the  meaning  of  it,  she  could 
not  rid  herself  of  the  impression  that  there  was  a  hid- 
den meaning.  These  annoyances  were  all  about  her 
own  house,  and  seemed  to  be  designed  as  annoyances 
by  persons  who  knew  that  they  would  displease  her. 

She  set  herself  resolutely  to  solve  the  mystery ;  nor 
was  it  difficult  to  unravel  when  once  the  clue  was  found. 
For,  when  she  ceased  to  go  out,  people  came  to  her 
door.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  but  Marta  came  to  her 
with  some  strange  story. 

"  They  ask  for  the  queerest  names,"  the  girl  said, 
"  and  say  the  strangest  things.  I  am  sure  they  are 
doing  it  to  be  impudent." 

Two  or  three  times  Valeria  sent  the  girl  out  to  fol- 
low those  who  had  been  at  her  door,  and  she  always 
traced  them  to  the  same  point.  She  understood  at 
last.  The  Countess  Belvedere  was  trying  to  drive  her 
out  of  the  casuccia. 

It  was  a  relief  to  know  the  truth,  though  it  plunged 
her  into  a  new  sort  of  perplexity.  For  while  she  saw 
that  peace  might  be  purchased  by  leaving  the  house, 
she  found  herself  unable  to  leave  it.  She  had  a  lease 
for  several  years,  and  the  loss  would  be  a  serious  one 
pecuniarily.  Besides,  she  could  not,  in  any  case,  go 


208  BY  THE    TIBER. 

out  of  town  that  summer.  Miss  Pendleton's  proposal 
crossed  her  mind,  and  tempted  her  a  moment;  but  was 
soon  rejected.  She  must  not  commit  herself  to  a  mode 
of  life  which  might  have  still  greater  discomforts,  and 
render  her  work  of  writing  more  difficult,  if  not  im- 
possible. 

For  a  moment  she  thought  of  complaining  to  the 
Questore,  or  asking  the  protection  of  the  American 
Consul.  But  she  was  unwilling  to  try  either  remedy. 
It  would  hardly  be  possible  to  make  a  complaint 
without  explaining  the  situation  fully,  and  she  was 
resolved  not  to  accuse  any  principal  offender,  however 
she  might  point  out  the  instruments.  She  would  say 
nothing  but  that  which  she  had  herself  seen,  and 
scarcely  all  of  that,  indeed. 

At  length  an  incident  occurred  which  made  her 
decide  to  take  advice.  Coming  in  one  evening  from 
a  drive,  she  was  met  by  Marta  outside  the  door. 

"That  same  man,  the  Signer  Conti,"  the  girl  whis- 
pered, pointing  over  her  shoulder  toward  the  ante- 
room. "  He  has  been  waiting  half  an  hour." 

Valeria  passed  the  dim  anteroom,  where  a  man 
rose  at  her  approach,  and,  ordering  the  girl  to  bring  a 
lamp  and  then  show  her  visitor  in,  entered  the  sala. 
She  knew  what  "  that  same  man  "  meant.  This  man 
had  already  been  at  the  house  twice  within  a  few 
days,  asking  if  she  were  in,  and  seeming  very  curious 
to  know  in  what  room  of  the  house  she  might  be,  and 
going  abruptly  away  when  told  that  he  might  enter. 
Both  times  she  had  sent  Marta  to  follow  him. 

She  considered  rapidly  while  waiting.  There  was 
a  police-station  near.  Should  she  send  Marta  for  the 
guard,  making  some  excuse  for  sending  her  out  ?  But 
that  would  leave  her  alone  in  the  house  with  this 
man.  Could  she  herself  slip  out  on  some  pretext, 
and  call  a  policeman  ?  He  would  be  sure  to  suspect 
her  purpose,  and  escape. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  209 

He  was  shown  in.  On  the  former  occasion  he  had 
been  gorgeously  dressed,  and  full  of  a  coarse  jollity. 
Now  he  looked  rather  shabby,  and  had  an  air  of  ex- 
aggerated humility.  He  presented  a  subscription- 
paper  which  had  not  a  name  written  on  it.  He  was 
a  poor  man,  he  said,  and  wished  to  take  his  family 
back  to  Turin,  from  whence  he  had  come  to  Rome, 
hoping  to  find  employment.  Would  she  kindly  give 
him  a  little  toward  paying  his  journey  ? 

She  reflected  while  he  was  speaking  that  it  would 
be  better  to  pretend  to  believe  him,  and  let  him  go. 
It  was  not  impossible  that  this  visit  might  be  in- 
tended as  a  cover  to  the  two  others,  which  had  been 
too  flagrant  for  the  prudence  which  these  people 
usually  showed. 

"  I  can  give  but  little,"  she  said,  rejecting  the  paper 
he  offered. 

"  If  it  were  only  a  soldo  !  "  he  whined.  "  I  have  five 
children,  and  we  have  not  eaten  bread  for  twenty-four 
hours." 

"You  have,  then,  been  making  yourself  sick  on  roast 
turkey  !"  she  thought,  glancing  over  his  full-fed  form 
and  face. 

She  gave  him  a  few  soldi,  and  he  went  away 
breathing  benedictions  upon  her. 

Valeria  had  already  made  a  serious  mistake  in  not 
putting  these  people  into  the  hands  of  the.  Questura. 
She  now  committed  a  still  greater  mistake.  She 
went  down  to  ask  Miss  Cromo's  advice. 

"  I  am  in  great  trouble  about  something,"  she  said; 
"and  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  can  tell  of  it,  so  that 
you  may  advise  me.  I  cannot  tell  all  But  first 
promise  me  solemnly  that  you  will  never  mention  it 
to  any  one.  I  would  not  have  it  come  out  for  the 
world." 

Miss  Cromo  made  the  most  profuse  and  solemn 
promises.  She  would  keep  the  matter  a  perfect 
14 


210  BY  THE    TIBER. 

secret.  "  It  shall  be  to  me  as  sacred  as  a  confession ! " 
she  declared. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Valeria  at  the  moment  that  for 
a  secret  to  be  as  sacred  as  a  confession  to  Miss  Cronio 
did  not  imply  a  very  high  degree  of  sacredness.  She 
took  the  meaning  as  she  would  herself  have  con- 
ceived it. 

Her  story  was  told  in  a  few  words,  all  names  and 
places  being  suppressed.  The  only  fact  she  commu- 
nicated was  that  certain  persons  whose  doings  she  had 
it  in  her  power  to  know  were  trying  to  drive  her  away 
from  the  neighborhood. 

"  It  was  those  people  I  have  already  mentioned  to 
you,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  that  it  meant  something. 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot. 
I  cannot  go  to  another  house,  and  I  cannot  go  into  the 
country.  And  of  course  I  have  no  way  of  making 
such  people  understand  that  I  really  do  not  wish  to 
meddle  with  them,  and  should  have  known  nothing 
if  they  had  not  forced  me  to  examine." 

"  Pretend  that  you  do  not  know,"  Miss  Cromo  said. 
"  Such  people  can  torment  your  life  out.  But  how  in 
the  world  have  you  learned  this  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  ask  me  to  say  any  more,"  Valeria  re- 
plied. "  I  would  rather  not.  I  don't  like  to  speak  of 
it  at  all" 

"  Of  course  I  don't  wish  to  know  any  more  than 
you  choose  to  tell  me,"  Miss  Cromo  said,  rather 
sharply,  and  began  to  speak  of  other  things.  But 
her  visitor  soon  found  that  the  discourse  which  fol- 
lowed was  a  clever  hook  and  line  for  further  revela- 
tions. 

There  is  a  way  of  catching  a  secret  by  telling  a 
secret ;  and  it  is  a  very  good  way,  since  one  confi- 
dence naturally  draws  another.  It  opens  the  heart, 
being  an  appeal  to  the  generosity.  Moreover,  the  per- 
son so  speaking,  having  given  an  hostage,  is  supposed 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  211 

to  be  safe.     Emulation  is  excited,  too.    Who  likes  to 
be  ou'tdone  in  story-telling  ? 

Miss  Cromo  tried  this  expedient.  She  disclosed 
the  most  piquant  secrets  regarding  her  friends,  and 
showed  in  the  darkest  colors  several  persons  supposed 
to  be  respectable.  But  the  effect  was  not  what  she 
had  hoped  for.  It  suggested  to  her  listener's  mind 
that  she  had  just  foolishly  added  a  new  story  to  the 
lady's  repertory  of  scandal,  without  herself  having 
received  any  benefit ;  and,  moreover,  that  the  details 
which  she  had  not  given,  and  did  not  mean  to  give, 
would,  very  likely,  be  added  by  her  friend's  imagi- 
nation. 

Finding  her  first  step  ineffectual,  Miss  Cromo  went 
still  further.  She  included  some  of  her  own  nearest 
relatives  in  the  holocaust,  and  did  not  leave  even  her 
own  dead  father's  name  unblackened. 

"  Oh,  why  have  I  told  this  story  to  a  woman  who 
holds  nothing  sacred  ? "  Valeria  said  to  herself  in 
terror. 

She  evaded  the  conversation,  and  rose  to  go.  "And 
pray,  don't  forget  your  promise  not  to  mention  what  I 
have  told  you,"  she  said.  "  It  would  do  no  good  to 
either  of  us." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  never  mention  it,"  was  the  reply. 
"  But  then,"  Miss  Cromo  added  irritably,  "  you  have 
really  not  told  me  anything  definite." 

Another  complication  had  already  shown  itself  in 
Valeria's  position ;  for,  in  searching  out  the  meaning 
of  the  persecution  she  suffered,  she  had  learned  that 
others  were  employed  in  the  same  search.  She  had, 
in  fact,  come  across  one  or  two  men  posted  by  Count 
Belvedere  to  watch  the  Villa.  This  put  her  between 
two  fires ;  for  while  Bruno  and  his  company  knew 
that  nothing  could  save  them  from  exposure  if  Va- 
leria should  choose  to  communicate  with  the  Count, 
the  Count  himself  might  suspect  that  she  was  ill  com- 


212  BY  THE    TIBER. 

munication  with  his  wife.  That  she  would  not  have 
taken  either  side  in  an  affair  which,  on  the  one  hand, 
would  have  given  her  safety  and  friends,  and,  on  the 
other,  would  have  punished  the  persons  who  had  an- 
noyed her,  she  could  not  hope  would  even  be  imagined 
by  persons  whose  lives,  barren  of  every  noble  pleasure 
or  duty,  were  passed  in  an  apparent  lassitude  and 
monotony  which  barely  covered  the  wildest  games  of 
intrigue. 

A  woman  like  Miss  Cromo  would  have  known  per- 
fectly how  to  meet  the  difficulty.  Unable  to  change 
her  residence,  she  would  have  complained  loudly  of 
these  annoyances,  and,  while  as  loudly  proclaiming  her 
ignorance  of  the  meaning  of  them,  would  have  called 
on  the  authorities  for  protection.  Valeria,  whose  life 
had  never  made  her  familiar  with  any  such  affairs, 
committed  the  fatal  mistake  of  confiding  in  women, 
and  of  shrinking  from  the  possible  publicity  of  an 
official  interference.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
there  is  no  publicity  so  great  as  that  to  be  feared  from 
the  tongues  of  a  few  malicious  and  tattling  women. 

Looking  out  into  the  street  the  day  after  her  inter- 
view with  Miss  Cromo,  she  was  startled  to  perceive  a 
person  whom  she  supposed  to  be  young  Mr.  Burton, 
the  portrait-painter,  who  was  unmistakably  engaged 
in  watching  the  Villa.  He  walked  about  with  pre- 
tended carelessness,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  observing 
everything.  Bruno  came  out  of  the  garden-gate, 
passed  him  by  without  seeming  to  be  aware  of  him, 
and  returned  by  way  of  the  palace.  Tito  went  out 
through  the  palace,  came  back  by  Via  Claudia,  passed 
the  new  sentinel  with  the  same  affectation  of  un- 
consciousness, and  returned  by  the  gate.  But  both 
had  taken  the  opportunity  to  fix  his  image  on  their 
minds. 

Valeria  hurried  down  to  Miss  Cromo,  and  re- 
proached her  with  her  betrayal 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  213 

"  I  told  him  to  walk  about  this  neighborhood  a 
little,  and  see  what  wonderful  thing  was  going  on," 
Miss  Crorno  said  boldly.  "  But  I  do  not  see  how  he 
could  have  come  so  early.  And  you  say  that  he  was 
smoking.  Burton  never  smokes  in  the  street ;  so  it 
cannot  be  he." 

"  How  could  you  do  such  a  thing  when  you  prom- 
ised secrecy  ! "  Valeria  exclaimed.  "  You  will  get 
both  yourself  and  me  into  trouble.  And  I  must  tell 
you  now  that  it  is  a  lady  of  rank  whom  you  have  put 
a  spy  upon." 

Miss  Cromo  looked  startled.  She  rang  the  bell  for 
her  servant,  and,  seating  herself,  wrote  a  hasty  note, 
and  sent  her  out  with  it.  "  Take  this  to  Burton  im- 
mediately," she  said.  "  But  I  am  sure  that  it  was  not 
Burton,"  she  repeated  to  Valeria. 

"  How  could  you  do  such  a  thing  !  "  was  all  Vale- 
ria's answer. 

"Pretend  that  you  do  not  know!"  Miss  Cromo 
said  impressively.  "  If  you  say  a  word  of  this,  they 
will  say  that  you  are  insane,  and  shut  you  up  in  an 
asylum." 

It  was  not  Burton,  as  it  turned  out;  but  a  new 
agent  of  the  Count  Belvedere. 

A  few  days  afterward  Valeria  dismissed  her  ser- 
vant Marta,  having  good  reason  to  do  so.  She  made 
no  explanations,  however,  merely  telling  the  girl  that 
she  no  longer  needed  her  services. 

'^You  have  done  me  a  harm  in  sending  me  away," 
the  girl  said  in  going  out  the  door,  "  and  I  will  be  re- 
venged. I  know  how  to." 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  threat ;  for  however  little, 
theoretically,  a  servant's  word  may  bs  worth  in  Home, 
where  their  dishonesty  is  proverbial,  malice  can 
always  use  them. 

Valeria  went  to  Miss  Pendleton,  and  told  her  all 
her  troubles,  giving  the  Countess  Belvedere's  name. 


214  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Here,  at  least,  she  thought,  her  confidence  was 
safe. 

Miss  Pendleton  showed  less  surprise  than  she  ex- 
pected. A  quick  smile  and  a  brightening  of  the  eyes 
showed  that  some  new  light  had  broken  into  her  mind 
on  a  subject  not  clearly  understood  before.  Perhaps 
she  understood  better  the  influence  which  had  induced 
her  to  beg  Valeria  to  leave  her  house. 

"  The  Countess  Belvedere  never  had  a  good  name, 
even  as  a  girl,"  she  said.  "  And  last  year  a  very  ex- 
cellent French  maid  who  had  been  living  with  her  a 
little  while  came  to  beg  me  to  find  her  another  place. 
She  was  not  willing  to  live  with  a  woman  who  con- 
ducted herself  so." 

Again  Valeria  was  disappointed  of  any  suggestion 
of  help.  It  was  nothing  but  gossip  with  them  all. 

But  at  home  a  pleasant  letter  awaited  her.  Her 
book,  sent  to  America  the  autumn  before,  and  ever 
since  that  time  circulating  round  in  a  purgatory  of 
critical  publishers,  till  she  had  got  to  look  upon  this 
temporary  state  as  its  final  Inferno,  had  at  length  been 
accepted,  and  would  be  published  at  once.  It  was  a 
little  ray  of  light  in  so  much  darkness. 

"  And  now,  if  I  could  only  escape  all  these  people, 
and  go  out  of  town,"  she  thought,  "  I  should  be 
happy." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOLE  IN   LEONE. 

T  7ITTOPJO  had  watched  all  to  no  purpose.   He  had 

V     reproached  and  begged  and  threatened,  and  all 

to  no  purpose.   There  were  times  when  he  was  tempted 

to  kill  himself ;  not  that  he  wished  to  die,  but  from  a 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  215 

nervous  fury  at  being  so  thwarted  and  baffled.  The 
amused  look  which  he  caught  sometimes  in  Bruno's 
face  put  him  in  a  passion  which  it  required  all  his 
pride  to  conceal.  The  smooth  evasions  with  which  he 
was  met  maddened  him. 

Violence,  he  knew,  would  avail  him  nothing.  He 
must  oppose  guile  to  guile. 

He  knew,  moreover,  that  his  time  was  short.  It 
was  incredible  that  the  Countess  would  not  find  some 
means  to  have  him  sent  away,  without  herself  seem- 
ing to  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  He  had  caught  a 
spark  of  anger  in  her  eyes  more  than  once,  and  seen 
her  straighten  her  neck  with  an  arrogant  scorn  which 
did  not  promise  a  long  patience. 

If  he  were  ever  to  know  the  truth,  then,  he  must 
know  it  soon. 

He  asked  leave  to  go  to  Palestrina.  He  had  to  see 
Marco  on  business,  he  said,  and  would  stay  but  one 
night. 

Permission  was  readily  accorded. 

"  Cannot  you  come  back  in  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  ?  "  asked  the  Countess  sweetly. 

"  How  can  I  ? "  he  replied.  "  I  should  not  have 
two  hours  to  stay." 

"  Then  if  you  stay  two  days,  you  can  take  a  com- 
mission from  me.  They  say  that  Maria  Magistri  has 
an  antique  white  intaglio  of  Augustus  that  they  found 
in  one  of  their  vineyards.  Tell  her  that  I  would  like 
to  see  it,  and  that  if  it  should  please  me,  I  will  buy  it. 
She  can  give  it  to  you  to  bring  me." 

Vittorio  started  at  early  dawn,  and  reached  Villa 
Frattina  just  before  noon.  He  had  not  meant  to  go 
to  the  villa;  but  there  were  four  or  five  hours  on 
his  hands,  and  he  knew  not  how  else  to  employ  them. 
He  did  not  dare  to  spend  them  alone  thinking.  He 
knew  what  he  meant  to  do.  There  was  nothing  to 
Btudy  out.  He  meant  to  return  to  Home,  conceal 


216  BY  THE    TIBER. 

himself  in  the  garden,  and  see  who  it  was  who  came 
in  by  the  gate.  He  would  see  his  face,  and  then  put 
him  out  into  the  street  with  a  strong  hand,  and  with 
whatever  roughness  the  moment  should  dictate.  To 
identify  this  man  was  a  longing  so  engrossing  that  it 
hid  all  which  should  come  after. 

Marco  was  eating  his  dinner  when  Vittorio  arrived 
at  the  villa,  and  the  first  notice  he  had  of  it  was 
Rosa's  glad  cry.  The  girl,  who  came  down  frequently 
from  the  palace  during  the  day  to  see  her  father,  was 
serving  the  table  for  him  when  she  saw  her  step- 
brother through  the  window. 

"  Vittorio  !  "  she  cried  ;  and,  running  out,  flew  down 
between  the  green  hedges  and  the  gray  statues,  and 
flung  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

He  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  smiled  at  her,  and 
went  to  the  house  with  her  hanging  on  his  arm. 

Marco  had  raised  himself  a  moment  from  his  chair 
to  see  over  the  window-ledge,  then  had  resumed  his 
dinner.  He  greeted  his  step-son  with  a  serious  "  Ben 
venuto  !  "  and  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  and,  pulling  a  chair 
to  the  table  for  him,  bade  Eosa  prepare  him  some- 
thing to  eat.  He  asked  no  questions.  He  and  Vitto- 
rio understood  each  other  too  well  to  ask  questions. 
Each  sympathized  too  thoroughly  with  that  moody 
discontent  which  makes  a  life  of  routine  intolerable, 
and  an  occasional  caprice  a  necessary  relief.  Eoutine 
is  pleasing  only  to  dull  minds  or  to  contented  ones. 
These  caprices  in  Marco  had  almost  given  way  to  age, 
and  to  the  sweet  influences  of  Eosa,  who  was  like 
oil  on  the  troubled  waters  of  his  soul ;  but  he  more 
than  suspected  that  Vittorio  had  found  in  his  new 
home  a  greater  trouble  than  he  had  carried  there. 

Marco's  first  feeling  of  triumph  on  perceiving  the 
impending  relations  between  his  step-son  and  the 
Countess  Belvedere  had  arisen  from  a  forgetfulness  of 
the  difference  between  Vittorio's  character  and  his 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  217 

own.  In  Vittorio's  place,  he  would  have  made  a  fortune 
from  such  a  connection  ;  would  have  procured  wealth 
and  place  by  means  of  it,  and  would  have  made  the 
woman's  disgrace  at  last  as  plain  as  had  been  that  of 
Felicita.  He  had  learned  his  mistake,  and  he  now 
feared  that,  instead  of  conqueror,  Vittorio  was  to  be  a 
victim.  The  poor  and  obscure  are  always  the  vic- 
tims, he  thought.  Though  they  have  the  axe  in  their 
own  hands,  and  the  great  seem  unarmed,  the  blade 
will  turn  in  the  hand  even  of  him  who  wields  it,  and 
wound  where  it  should  have  avenged.  "  We  have  no 
help  in  heaven  or  in  earth,"  he  thought,  as  he  glanced 
into  Vittorio's  worn,  yet  burning  face. 

"  I  took  a  caprice  to  come  here  to-day  for  a  change 
of  air ;  but  I  am  going  back  to-night,"  Vittorio 
said. 

Rosa  began  to  expostulate.  Could  he  not  go  up 
and  stay  at  the  palace  that  night  ?  Chiara  had  a 
spare  bed.  And  she  wanted  him  to  walk  up  through 
the  town  with  her. 

"  I  '11  walk  up  with  you  if  you  go  early  enough," 
he  said.  "  But  I  must  go  back  in  the  evening  train, 
and  it  will  take  me  an  hour  to  go  over  to  Valmon- 
tone." 

"  I  will  go  back  to  Rome  with  you,"  Marco  said, 
without  looking  up;  and  since  he  received  no  an- 
swer, lifted  his  eyes  inquiringly,  and  saw  that  Vitto- 
rio was  hesitating  and  embarrassed. 

"  Go  and  get  a  bottle  of  rosolio,"  he  said  to  Rosa ; 
and  when  she  was  out  of  the  room,  added,  "  Will  it 
put  you  out  if  I  go  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  mean  they  should  know  that  I  was  coming 
back,"  Vittorio  said  in  a  low  voice,  his  eyes  downcast. 
"  I  said  that  I  should  stay  here  all  night." 

Marco's  suspicion  was  instantly  confirmed,  as  was 
also  his  wish  to  go. 

"  I  will  keep  quiet,"  he  said,  "  and  go  wherever  you 


218  BY  THE   TIBER. 

like.  If  I  should  be  in  the  way  in  the  house,  I  can 
go  somewhere  else." 

"  Come  with  me  if  you  can  be  quiet,"  Vittorio 
replied. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  once  he  should  know  the 
truth,  he  might  like  to  have  Marco's  advice.  He  had 
so  far  gone  on  in  his  own  way  ;  but  this  misery  of 
love  and  jealousy  had  made  him  as  weak  as  a  woman. 
Marco  was  his  only  friend.  On  the  whole,  he  would 
like  to  have  him  near.  Marco  had  loved  once  in  his 
life,  and  had  been  betrayed,  —  for  Vittorio  knew  all 
his  mother's  story,  —  therefore  he  could  understand. 
But  Vittorio  never  placed  Felicita  in  the  same  cate- 
gory with  the  Countess  Belvedere.  He  reverenced 
the  memory  of  his  mother,  and  still  more  since  he  had 
inherited  her  fate.  To  him  she  was  a  flower  rudely 
broken  by  cruel  hands.  He  never  remembered  her 
without  imagining  what  he  would  feel  if  Eosa  were 
to  be  so  sacrificed. 

After  dinner  was  over,  Marco  lighted  his  pipe, 
and,  seating  himself  in  the  window,  with  his  arms 
resting  on  the  sill,  smoked  gloomily,  looking  out  to- 
ward the  terraces  with  their  low  green  arabesques 
of  hedges,  their  soaring  oaks  and  cypresses  above, 
and  the  laurels  that  stretched  right  and  left  Gray 
and  mossy  stone  figures  looked  down  at  him,  fixed 
forever  in  one  attitude.  He,  too,  was  forever  fixed  in 
one  position,  and  could  never  escape  from  it  except 
by  death. 

"  And  who  knows  if  death  may  not  be  another  sort 
of  tyranny  ? "  he  thought. 

Rosa  came  to  him,  put  her  arm  around  his  neck, 
and  kissed  his  dark  face  with  her  fresh  lips. 

"  Good-by,  papa !  Vittorio  is  going  up  with  me 
now.  Be  sure  you  come  back  to-morrow  morning.  I 
shall  come  down  just  the  same." 

Vittorio  understood  that  the  poor  child  was  almost 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  219 

as  solitary  as  himself,  and  that  it  was  a  proud  delight 
for  her  to  be  escorted  by  her  brother ;  and  he  hu- 
mored her.  Hateful  as  it  was  to  him,  he  walked  up 
the  long,  tree-shadowed  avenue  where  all  the  town 
came  out  later  for  a  promenade,  and  through  the 
piazza,  where  everybody  congregated,  and  took  the 
most  frequented  ways,  to  show  that  poor  little  Rosa 
had  some  one  besides  an  old  woman  to  think  for  and 
protect  her. 

If  he  had  been  less  troubled,  he  might  well  have 
been  proud  to  have  that  pretty  creature  at  his  side. 
Rosa  had  lengthened  her  skirts,  and  discarded  her 
handkerchief  for  a  veil,  and  in  her  sweet  and  simple 
dignity  looked  quite  the  lady.  It  was  evident  that 
she  was  proud  of  her  companion.  Her  shining  eyes 
seemed  to  ask  of  every  one  they  met  if  they  did  not 
see  this  beautiful  brother  of  hers.  And  yet  her  eyes 
searched  his  face  wistfully  now  and  then,  and  tears 
rose  in  them  more  than  once,  she  scarcely  knew  why. 
Perhaps  she  had  learned  to  feel  that  love  is  not 
always  joyous.  Perhaps  she  felt  some  unusual  gloom 
about  him,  though  he  had  never  been  gay. 

The  unspoken  pain  of  others  had  never  oppressed 
her  in  the  days  that  were  past.  She  had  thought 
that  people  cried  out  when  they  were  hurt,  and  that 
gloom  and  sadness  were  only  a  way  that  some  had. 
even  as  they  had  fair  or  dark  hair,  and  blue  eyes  or 
black.  But  now  she  was  more  touched  by  a  sad  look 
than  by  a  spoken  sorrow. 

"  Is  your  painter  up  at  the  palace  this  summer  ? " 
her  brother  asked. 

"  No  ;  but  the  Signora  Maria  says  that  he  will  come 
again  this  winter  or  next  spring." 

They  walked  on  awhile  in  silence ;  then  she  said, 
with  a  slight  effort,  "  I  suppose  Madama  Valeria  has 
gone  somewhere  for  a  villeggiatura  this  summer."  ^ 

"I  don't  know,"   he  replied;    then,  recollecting, 


220  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  You  mean  the  American  in  the  casuccia  ?  No ;  I  be- 
lieve she  is  there  now.  I  hardly  ever  see  her.  I 
have  never  spoken  with  her.  When  you  come  to 
Home  I  will  give  you  some  flowers  to  carry  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  to  Home  with  you  to-day ! " 
Rosa  said,  her  voice  becoming  tremulous. 

"  You  can't  go  to-day,  carina ;  but  you  shall  go 
soon,  this  autumn,  surely.  It  is  dull  for  you  here. 
You  can  stay  at  Sor  Bianca's  house.  Will  that  con- 
tent you  ?  I  promise  that  you  shall  go." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  smiling  through  her  tears."  But 
someway  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  could  n't  wait.  Did 
you  ever  feel  as  if  you  would  like  to  throw  whole 
months  behind  you,  like  that  ? "  flinging  behind  her 
with  a  gesture  of  sudden  passion  a  bunch  of  half- 
wilted  flowers  that  she  had  brought  up  from  the  villa. 

"  Yes ! "  said  Vittorio,  looking  at  her  with  awak- 
ened interest.  "  Has  anybody  been  annoying  you  ? " 
he  asked  after  a  moment. 

"  No ;  but  sometimes  I  get  nervous.  I  think  it 's 
the  weather." 

They  had  reached  the  wide-spreading  steps  that 
lead  up  to  the  palace  door.  Vittorio  released  Rosa's 
hand  from  his  arm,  and  took  it  in  his,  leading  her  up 
the  steps  so.  They  looked  as  bright  and  beautiful 
and  dainty  as  two  birds  might  who  had  come  up  to 
build  their  nest  in  that  gray  old  pile. 

At  the  door  they  stopped.  "  I  have  n't  time  to 
go  in,"  Vittorio  said,  holding  still  his  sister's  hand. 
"  Remember,  now,  you  are  to  come  to  Rome  and  stay 
a  month  just  as  soon  as  the  summer  and  the  fever- 
season  are  over.  And  now,  addio  !  " 

They  stood  smiling  in  each  other's  faces  an  instant, 
then  leaned  together  with  a  mutual  embrace  and  a 
double  kiss. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  you  want  ? "  Vittorio  asked, 
half  turned  to  go. 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  221 

"  Nothing,"  she  replied  faintly. 

He  went  down  the  steps ;  and  when  he  had  crossed 
the  street,  looked  back,  and  saw  her  still  there  in  the 
door,  looking  after  him,  her  head  drooping  a  little  to 
one  side.  In  all  that  grayness  of  carved  and  piled-up 
stone,  her  small  bright  figure  looked  like  a  flower 
growing  in  an  old  wall. 

For  a  moment  the  image  of  her  drove  every  other 
thought  out  of  his  mind.  She  was  not  pale,  nor  pin- 
ing, nor,  apparently,  unhappy ;  but  where  had  her 
laughter  gone  ? 

Marco  and  Vittorio  started  at  five  o'clock  on  foot 
to  go  to  Valrnontone.  Instead  of  taking  the  road, 
they  plunged  into  a  path  that  led  down  among  the 
vines  opposite  the  house.  This  was  the  shorter  way. 
Sometimes  they  were  shut  in  closely  by  a  green  wall 
hanging  thick  with  unripe  bunches  of  white  grapes ; 
sometimes  they  passed  through  a  scattered  grove  of 
walnut-trees  ;  and  then  they  plunged  into  an  ocean  of 
yellow  wheat  that  leaned  with  all  its  red  and  blue 
poppies  and  bachelor's-buttons  half  over  the  narrow 
path ;  and  then  the  way  grew  rough  and  rocky,  and 
flowering  elder-trees,  and  dried  branches  wreathed 
with  large  white  convolvuli  and  tangled  ivy,  half 
hid  with  their  screen  the  yawning  caverns  at  the 
roadside ;  and  then  all  that  wildness  gave  place 
to  a  gayly  blossoming  field  of  lupines,  planted  for 
dressing. 

"  The  wheat  is  good  this  year,"  Marco  said.  "  It 
gives  us  twenty  for  one.  It  is  a  good  year  for  every- 
thing." 

"When  wheat  grows,  everything  grows,  —  both 
bitter  and  sweet,"  said  Vittorio  with  a  slight  em- 
phasis. 

"  Vittorio,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  asked  Marco 
suddenly,  coming  beside  the  young  man  and  touching 
his  arm. 


222  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  I  only  want  to  find  out  something,"  Vittorio  re- 
plied lightly. 

"  Don't  you  know  your  man  ? " 

"  I  think  I  do ;  but  I  am  not  sure." 

"  And  then  ? "  asked  Marco  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  Then  I  shall  think  it  over." 

"  You  mean  to  take  time  to  think  it  over  ? " 

"  Certainly.  When  a  man  catches  too  hastily  at  a 
knife,  he  may  catch  it  by  the  blade  instead  of  the 
handle." 

Marco  gave  a  low  growl  like  an  angry  chained 
dog. 

"  We  always  take  the  knife  by  the  blade,"  he  said. 
"  It  has  no  handle  for  us." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  and  reached  Valmontone 
just  as  the  train  from  Naples  was  coming  in  sight. 
Vittorio  did  not  take  their  tickets  for  Home,  but  for 
the  last  station  before  arriving  at  Rome.  There  they 
found  a  carriage  waiting  that  took  them  to  the  Porta 
Maggiore,  where  they  descended. 

It  was  now  quite  dark ;  but  as  they  hurried  through 
the  lonely  ways  or  the  crowded  streets,  Vittorio  did 
not  go  straight  to  his  home,  nor  reach  it  without  stop- 
ping many  times  and  looking  about  him.  But  at 
length  they  were  at  the  door. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  do  anything  ?  Speak  the 
word  if  you  do ! "  Marco  whispered,  when  they  had 
entered  the  house. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do  but  go  to  bed  and 
to  sleep." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  there  is  no  danger  ? " 

"Sure." 

They  took  their  shoes  off  at  the  landing  of  the 
stairs.  All  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  house  were 
open.  Marco  went  softly  to  an  inner  room,  and 
threw  himself  on  to  the  bed,  without  undressing.  He 
meant  only  to  content  Vittorio,  not  to  go  to  sleep. 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  223 

But  the  fatigue  of  a  day's  work  and  a  journey,  added 
to  the  heat,  overcame  him,  and  he  slept. 

Valeria  was  sitting  in  her  study  window  when  the 
two  men  arrived.  She  had  avoided  it  of  late  ;  but  it 
seemed  probable  that  the  Countess  Belvedere  was  out 
of  Eome  at  this  season  ;  and,  moreover,  she  was  think- 
ing of  something  else  at  the  time. 

The  night  was  magnificently  dark,  and  sparkling 
with  stars,  and  the  flo\vers  in  the  garden  showed 

Ehosphorescent  lights  and  flashes  here  and  there, 
he  had  been  sitting  at  her  window  a  long  time, 
watching  first  how  a  sunset  that  is  golden  in  the 
west  will  look  in  the  north;  then  seeing  how  the 
stars  come  out,  first  a  doubt,  then  a  hint,  then  a  twin- 
kle, and  lastly  a  lamp.  Then  she  had  wondered  why 
there  came  first  a  breath  of  rose,  then  a  sigh  of  mign- 
onette, then  a  rush  of  orange-flower,  or  a  dream  of  a 
breath  of  pansies,  then,  all  at  once,  a  full  sigh  of  them 
all  mingled  in  inextricable  sweetness,  and  almost  too 
rich  to  breathe. 

Finding  the  air  oppressive,  she  rose  and  walked 
about  the  house.  All  the  doors  and  windows  were 
open  ;  and  as  she  reached  a  window  looking  out  on 
Via  Nera,  a  close  carriage  came  slowly  down  Via 
Claudia,  and  stopped  before  reaching  the  corner. 

There  was  the  spurt  of  a  match  under  the  arch- 
way near  her  window,  a  momentary  red  light,  then 
silence  and  darkness  again. 

"Pak!"  she  muttered,  and  went  away  from  the 
window. 

Still  walking  about,  she  heard  the  garden  gate  open, 
not  so  softly  as  usual ;  and  then  there  was  a  moment 
of  silence. 

"  When  a  woman  of  low  station  misbehaves,"  re- 
marked Valeria  to  herself,  "  she  is  demi-monde  ;  when 
a  woman  of  rank  does  the  same,  she  is  le  monde  et 
demi,  which  makes  a  world  of  difference."  Aiid 


224  BY  THE   TIBER. 

then  she  went  back  to  her  own  interrupted  thoughts  : 
"  First,  I  will  write  a  book  which  shall  be  a  frag- 
mentary piece  cut  out  of  life,  like  a  square  of  turf 
you  cut,  with  perhaps  no  whole  weed  in  it ;  and  peo- 
ple who  like  a  story  will  be  disappointed,  because 
nothing  is  concluded.  And  then  I  will  write  another, 
which  shall  be  like  a  single  root  pulled  up,  and  all  the 
roots  and  weeds  that  naturally  cling  shall  be  pulled 
away ;  and  then  the  story -readers  will  say,  '  At  last 
here  is  something  complete.'  And  —  "  The  words 
and  her  breath  were  checked  on  her  lips,  and  the 
blood  in  her  veins,  by  a  sound  that  was  neither  a 
word  nor  a  cry,  but  breaths  strongly  and  sharply 
drawn  and  expelled,  mingled  with  a  crunching  of 
gravel  under  struggling  feet. 

She  waited  a  moment  for  this  strange  noise  to  cease, 
then  ran  into  the  study,  half  wrapped  herself  in  the 
curtains,  and  looked  out.  In  the  shadows  before  her 
window  two  darker  shadows  were  struggling,  a  third 
precipitated  himself  upon  them,  and  a  fourth  rushed 
in  from  the  gate.  All  passed  in  a  minute.  There  did 
not  seem  to  have  been  a  word  uttered. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  it  had  commenced,  the  struggle 
ceased ;  there  was  a  strange  sound,  not  loud,  but  more 
terrible  than  thunder.  It  was  a  gurgling  sound  of  one 
who  is  suffocated  in  his  own  blood.  Then  something 
fell. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause  ;  then  three  figures 
hurried  to  the  gate.  One,  a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak, 
ran  up  Via  Claudia,  entered  the  carriage  standing 
there,  and  was  driven  away;  after  a  moment,  the 
other  two  came  out  into  the  street,  walked  off  in  op- 
posite directions,  looked  about,  and  came  back.  These 
were  Bruno,  and  a  man  who  had  sometimes  worked 
in  the  garden,  one  Tito,  a  large  black-browed  man, 
with  a  seamed  and  wicked  face. 

Seated  in  the  garden  window,  with  the  curtains 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  225 

almost  drawn  together  before  her,  and  shaking  as  with 
an  ague  in  that  heat,  Valeria  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
shadows  and  waited.  There  was  not  a  sound,  except 
one  of  breathing  that  came  from  under  the  arch,  and 
showed  that  the  two  men  below  were  also  waiting. 

They  waited  in  vain ;  for  there  was  no  stir  amid 
the  shadows  under  the  camellias.  But  after  a  while 
a  figure  came  rustling  along  the  fiower-beds  from 
the  direction  of  the  palace,  and  Bruno  went  out  to 
meet  it.  There  was  a  whispered  conversation ;  then 
the  Countess  Belvedere's  maid  went  back  to  her  mis- 
tress, and  Bruno  returned  to  his  post. 

The  waning  moon  came  up  in  the  east,  pale  and 
languid  like  the  ghost  of  an  exhausted  passion.  It 
threw  a  melancholy  white  light  over  the  tree-tops ; 
the  beams  moved  downward  and  blanched  the  lower 
shrubs,  and  slid  along  the  walks,  and  touched  the 
edges  of  the  heavy  shadows.  Inch  by  inch  it  crept 
over  the  grass,  and  two  dark  heads  were  stretched  out 
from  under  the  archway  of  the  gate,  and  followed  its 
course.  There  were  three  pairs  of  eyes  strained  to 
see  what  would  come  next.  First  appeared  a  daisy, 
and  grasses  that  looked  stiffened;  and  then  a  hand,  as 
white  as  though  it  belonged  to  a  marble  statue  fallen 
there,  lay  out,  the  palm  upward. 

One  of  the  three  who  saw  it  slipped  down  to  her 
knees.  The  two  men  stole  forward,  lifted  the  mo- 
tionless figure,  and  bore  it  toward  the  gardener's 
house,  stepping  carefully  over  the  sward. 

There  was  no  lamp ;  but  the  moon  shone  in,  and 
laid  a  square  of  whiteness  on  the  floor.  They  laid 
him  in  that ;  then  Bruno  lighted  a  lamp,  and  the  two 
men  knelt,  one  at  either  side  of  Vittorio,  and  began  to 
examine  him.  It  was  a  mere  form ;  for  one  glance 
would  have  told  the  tale ;  and  Bruno  knew  but  too 
well  where  he  had  struck,  and  how  the  warm  blood 
had  spouted  out  from  the  neck  he  had  aimed  at. 
15 


226  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  Fool !  he  would  have  it ! "  he  muttered  in  a  trem- 
bling voice.  "  Why  did  n't  he  let  go  ? " 

Hearing  a  slight  noise,  the  two  turned  their  heads, 
and  saw  Marco's  face  gazing  out  from  the  darkness  of 
an  inner  door.  His  head  was  stretched  out,  his  body 
invisible,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  mute  form 
on  the  floor. 

At  the  first  glimpse  of  him  Bruno  started  up,  with 
a  faint  cry  of  terror,  and  fled  out  of  the  room  and 
through  the  garden. 

"  You  here,  Marco  !  I  'm  glad  of  it ! "  said  Tito,  look- 
ing steadily  into  his  terrible  face.  "  But  it 's  a  pity 
you  had  n't  been  awake  to  prevent  this.  Poor  Vittorio 
has  had  a  fight  with  somebody." 

Marco  came  slowly  forward,  and  stooped  down  over 
the  prostrate  form. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  all  over,"  said  Tito. 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  before  Marco  was 
on  the  track  of  the  fugitive.  Their  swift  steps  flew 
over  the  garden  walks,  out  through  the  gate  and  into 
the  silent  street.  Bruno,  winged  with  terror,  flew  he 
knew  not  whither;  Marco,  nerved  to  the  energy  of 
youth  by  the  wild  spirit  of  vengeance,  followed  the 
echo  of  his  footsteps  in  the  close-shut  walls,  and  his 
fleeting  shade  in  the  pallid  lights. 

At  a  cross  street  a  carriage  was  just  starting  from 
an  open  door.  Bruno  threw  himself  under  the  step  ; 
for  he  could  go  no  farther.  The  door  closed  as  Marco 
came  round  the  corner,  and  there  was  no  one  in  sight. 
He  believed  that  Bruno  was  lost  to  him  for  that  time. 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  went  back  to  the  villa. 

Tito  asked  no  questions  as  he  came  in.  "  It 's  a  bad 
thing,"  he  said  ;  "  but  what 's  done  is  done.  I  'd  have 
given  a  good  deal  to  prevent  it.  I  was  outside,  and 
heard  the  scuffle ;  and  when  I  reached  them,  it  was 
too  late.  But  I  don't  know  who  it  was  struck  him, 
on  my  life  I  don't !  It  was  too  dark  to  see." 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  227 

Marco  said  nothing. 

"It  would  be  best  to  hush  it  up,"  Tito  went  on. 
"  You  see,  nothing  could  be  done,  and  they  might  say 
something  against  Vittorio.  He  went  away,  and  said 
he  should  n't  come  back  till  to-morrow;  so  no  one 
could  believe  there  was  a  plan  to  kill  him.  I  thought 
he  was  in  Palestrina  till  I  saw  him  on  the  ground  out 
there." 

Still  Marco  said  nothing.  He  was  sitting  where  he 
had  dropped  into  a  chair  on  entering,  and  staring  into 
Vittorio's  lace. 

Tito  waited  a  moment,  then  found  a  lanthorn, 
lighted  it,  and  went  out  into  the  garden,  saying  that 
he  would  return  presently.  He  got  a  spade,  and  a 
watering-pot  full  of  water,  and  went  toward  the  ca- 
mellias. He  took  up  the  stained  gravel,  and  washed 
the  stained  grass ;  he  went  away  and  brought  fresh 
gravel,  and  washed  it  down  with  water.  He  peered 
about  in  every  direction.  When  all  was  done,  and  he 
had  started  to  go  away,  he  turned  back,  and  flashed 
his  light  up  at  the  window  of  the  casuccia.  It  was 
open,  but  the  curtains  hung  straight  over  it. 

Valeria  was  there  out  of  sight,  on  her  knees.  She 
could  not  rise.  She  seemed  to  have  become  stiffened 
into  that  position. 

A  few  moments  afterward  a  faint  light  showed 
across  the  garden,  behind  the  oranges,  where  the  pas- 
sion-flowers grew.  There  was  a  muffled  sound  of 
shovelling  earth,  which  lasted  till  daylight,  and  there 
were  steps  that  went  stealthily,  and  a  rustling  of  the 
shrubs,  as  if  something  were  carried  past  them. 

At  daylight  all  was  quiet. 

Tito  came  out  from  the  direction  of  the  gardeners 
house  shortly  after,  and  paused  beneath  Valeria's 
window  again,  and  stood  there  a  moment  looking  up 
with  his  evil  face.  Then  he  went  away.  And  at  last 
the  sun  came  up. 


228  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"When  its  first  beams  touched  the  tree-tops,  Marco's 
work  was  done. 

"  Go  and  tell  the  Countess  Belvedere  to  come  down 
here,"  he  said  to  Tito.  It  was  the  first  word  that  he 
had  spoken  since  he  came  out. 

They  stood  in  the  little  opening  between  the  orange- 
screen  and  the  passion-flower  draped  wall.  Two  sides 
of  this  jutting  square  of  wall  were  covered  with  the 
vines.  On  the  third  side  Vittorio  had  prepared  the 
earth  to  receive  other  roots.  This  bed  had  been  newly 
disturbed. 

"  Now,  Marco,  what  is  the  use  ? "  Tito  said  coax- 
ingly.  "  The  Countess  knows  nothing  about  it,  and  it 
will  upset  her.  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  I  've  given 
up  to  you  in  everything,  and  helped  you,  for  peace' 
sake.  The  Countess  thought  a  great  deal  of  Vittorio, 
and  this  will  make  her  sick.  Why  can't  you  let  go 
now  ?  I  'm  sorry ;  but  there 's  no  help  for  it.  Noth- 
ing will  help.  Nothing  can  be  done.  It  will  be  said 
that  Vittorio  came  back  here  last  night,  when  he  had 
said  that  he  shouldn't,  that  he  had  a  quarrel  with 
Bruno,  and  that  Bruno  defended  himself.  If  you  go 
to  law  about  it,  what  good  will  you  get  ?  And  what 
good  will  you  get  by  talking  with  the  Countess  ? " 

"  Go  and  tell  her  to  come  out  here  ! "  said  Marco. 

It  was  evident  that  he  would  not  yield. 

"  You  can't  imagine  that  she  will  come,"  Tito  said. 
"  She  will  be  afraid  of  you." 

Marco  took  his  knife  from  his  belt,  and  held  the 
handle  out  to  Tito.  "  It 's  all  the  arm  I  have,"  he 
said.  "  You  may  keep  it  till  after  I  have  seen  her. 
Don't  be  afraid ;  I  don't  mean  to  touch  her  now.  I 
only  want  to  say  a  word  to  her.  And  if  she  does  n't 
come,  I  '11  go  into  the  palace  and  drag  her  out  before 
them  all" 

Tito  went  toward  the  rose-garden,  got  behind  a 
tree,  where  he  could  be  seen  only  from  the  loggia, 


SOLE  IN  LEONE.  229 

and  when  the  maid  came  out  there,  beckoned  her 
down. 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  Countess  Belvedere,  wrapped 
in  a  dressing-gown  that  was  scarcely  so  white  as  her 
face,  came  out  with  a  hesitating  step,  and  slowly 
approached  the  place  where  Marco  awaited  her.  She 
was  closely  followed  by  her  maid  and  Tito.  She 
paused  at  some  distance.  Marco,  standing  beside  the 
wall,  beckoned  her. 

"  Oh,  Marco,  I  am  so  sorry ! "  she  cried,  bursting 
into  tears.  "  I  will  have  Bruno  taken  and  hanged ! 
I  don't  know  how  it  happened ! " 

If  Marco  had  not  believed  that  Vittorio  had  rushed 
upon  a  death  that  was  not  premeditated  for  him,  or, 
at  least,  not  then,  he  would  have  torn  her  in  pieces 
with  his  hands,  in  spite  of  his  promise.  He  cared  no 
more  for  a  promise  to  those  people  than  he  cared  for 
the  sands  under  his  feet. 

"  Come  here  ! "  he  said. 

She  glanced  behind  at  her  attendants,  then  drew 
tremblingly  nearer. 

"  There  he  lies  ! "  said  Marco,  pointing  to  the  flower- 
bed under  the  wall.  "  I  have  wrapped  him  up  in  my 
cloak,  and  fastened  it  around  him  with  his  own  dag- 
ger. It  was  in  his  belt.  He  had  not  drawn  it.  See 
to  it  that  he  is  not  disturbed.  If  his  body  is  n't  there 
when  I  come,  or  send  for  it,  I  will  cut  you  into  a 
thousand  pieces ! " 

"  Oh,  I  will  do  anything  you  wish ! "  she  cried  in 
abject  terror. 

"  Get  down  on  your  knees  and  swear  it ! " 

She  dropped  on  her  knees  in  the  gravel. 

"  Not  there  !  "  said  Marco.  "  Kneel  on  the  edge  of 
his  grave." 

She  rose,  and,  though  shrinking  with  terror,  did 
as  he  commanded  her,  and  held  up  her  hands  and 
swore. 


230  BY  THE    TIBER. 

As  she  finished  speaking,  Marco  bent  forward,  and 
spat  in  her  face.  "  Now  get  out  of  my  sight ! "  he 
said,  and  turned  to  Tito.  "  Give  me  my  knife." 

Tito  gave  up  his  knife ;  and  the  Countess  and  her 
maid  fled  to  the  palace. 

Marco  stood  one  moment  looking  down  on  the 
grave  at  his  feet,  then  went  back  to  the  house.  He 
prepared  Vittorio's  possessions  to  be  removed,  told 
Tito  what  to  do  with  them,  then  went  out  of  the 
door,  and  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

IN  A  WHEAT-FIELD. 

WHEN  Marco  had  turned  backward,  believing 
his  chase  to  be  a  vain  one,  Bruno  crept  out 
from  his  place  of  concealment,  and  ran  in  an  opposite 
direction.  He  could  not  convince  himself  that  he  was 
no  longer  followed.  He  stopped  only  when  he  had 
reached  the  Palace  of  St.  John  Lateran. 

There  was  no  person  in  sight ;  but  he  heard  a 
tinkling  of  little  bells  from  the  road  that  came  up 
from  the  Roman  Forum,  and  presently  there  appeared 
a  wine-cart.  It  came  nearer,  piled  with  empty  hogs- 
heads that  had  been  exchanged  for  full  ones,  and 
he  could  see  the  driver  quite  alone,  nodding  in  his 
seat. 

Bruno  spoke  to  him. 

"  Let  me  go  out  a  piece  with  you.  I  want  to  get 
away,  and  I  will  pay  you  anything.  I  will  get  up 
behind.  Only  stop  that  dog,  will  you  ? " 

The  man  said  a  word  to  the  little  white  dog  that, 
perched  on  the  top  of  the  hogsheads,  was  barking 


IN  A    WHEA  T-FIELD.  231 

furiously,  and  waited  while  Bruno  crawled  in  at  the 
back  of  the  cart,  and  lay  down  so  as  to  watch  the 
road  behind  them ;  then  the  cart  rolled  on,  and  out 
through  the  gate. 

The  cluster  of  little  bells  beside  the  driver's  seat 
tinkled  softly;  the  dog,  after  barking  awhile  longer 
to  assert  his  importance,  lay  down,  put  his  nose 
between  his  paws,  and  slept  with  his  eyes  shut  and 
his  ears  open. 

Bruno  lay  bathed  in  perspiration,  yet  shivering. 
He  began  to  be  sorry  for  having  got  into  the  cart ;  for 
the  noise  of  it  would  prevent  his  hearing  any  sound 
of  pursuit ;  and,  if  caught  thus,  he  would  not  be  able 
to  extricate  himself.  He  lay  on  his  face,  with  his 
head  lifted.  Now  and  then  he  pushed  back  the  hair 
that  fell  over  his  staring  eyes.  The  hand  was  red  to 
the  wrist,  and  the  fingers  left  red  marks  across  his 
forehead. 

The  stones  gave  place  presently  to  an  unpaved 
road ;  the  houses  grew  fewer,  and  disappeared ;  and 
the  thin  mists  of  the  campagna,  through  which  the 
stars  looked  like  tear-dimmed  eyes,  wrapped  them 
round. 

He  lay  and  watched  the  road  with  straining  vision 
for  a  shape  or  a  sound.  His  eyes  searched  the  tree- 
shadows,  and  fancied  that  they  moved.  Sometimes 
he  imagined  that  some  one  was  beside  the  cart,  and 
leaning  round  the  corner  of  it,  with  an  uplifted  knife. 
If  Marco  found  him,  he  would  not  merely  be  killed, 
he  would  be  cut  into  a  thousand  pieces.  He  had 
always  feared  Marco,  who  was  dark  and  strong  and 
silent. 

Moments  of  intense  suffering  or  of  rapt  delight 
give  one  a  faint  idea  of  the  mystery  of  eternity ;  for 
time  drops  out  of  sight  like  a  bird  that  is  shot  on  the 
wing,  and  there  is  no  motion  across  the  crystalline 
surface  of  impassive  immensity.  The  sunshine  of 


232  BY  THE    TIBER. 

heaven  is  wrapped  about  us,  or  we  are  caught  in  the 
toils  of  everlasting  torment,  and  there  is  no  end. 

The  white  light  of  early  dawn  came  faintly  up 
against  the  white  light  of  the  waning  moon.  It  was 
the  meeting  of  two  ghosts.  They  passed  through  each 
other,  gliding  on  their  ways.  A  long  road  stretched 
itself  out,  blanching  to  a  chalk-white  through  the 
green  country,  and  there  was  not  a  person  to  be  seen 
on  it. 

A  faint  hope  of  escape  stole  into  Bruno's  mind, 
hurting  him  as  it  released  the  tension  of  his  fears, 
and  with  that  tension  the  strength  and  wakefulness 
which  it  had  upheld.  Utter  exhaustion  fell  upon 
him.  He  dropped  his  face  down,  clasped  his  hands 
up  over  the  top  of  his  head,  with  a  last  confused  in- 
stinct of  hiding  himself,  and  sank  into  a  trance  that 
was  half  sleep  and  half  a  swoon. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  chorus  of  birds.  He  tried  to 
move,  and  could  not.  Then,  opening  his  eyes,  and 
lifting  his  head  a  little,  he  looked  out  on  a  dewy,  sun- 
swept  landscape  rejoicing  in  all  the  gladness  of  a  sum- 
mer morning  in  the  country.  The  sickening  sense  of 
his  condition  returned  upon  him,  and  he  was  about 
thrusting  his  head  out  farther  to  find,  if  possible,  where 
he  was,  when  he  heard  voices  talking.  Quickly  re- 
suming his  former  position,  he  listened, 

It  was  a  fresh,  girlish  voice  that  spoke,  with  laugh- 
ter between  the  words  ;  and  the  rough  voice  of  an  old 
woman  answered.  They  were  quite  near,  and  the 
driver  of  the  cart  exchanged  a  salutation  with  them. 
They  must  have  almost  passed  by,  when  the  girl  spoke 
again. 

"See,  Chiara!  there  is  a  man  asleep  under  the 
hogsheads.  And,  see  !  one  of  his  hands  is  all  red." 

The  bitterness  of  death  swept  over  Bruno's  soul. 
He  seemed  to  be  floating  on  a  great  tide  that  tossed 
him  to  and  fro,  and  stifled  him. 


IN  A    WHEAT-FIELD.  233 

Gasping  for  breath,  he  lifted  his  face  after  a  minute, 
and  looked  out. 

Eosa  and  Chiara  were  at  some  distance,  just  enter- 
ing the  gates  of  Villa  Frattina.  He  had  believed  that 
he  was  going  toward  Albano  ;  and  instead  of  that,  lie 
had  gone  into  the  very  jaws  of  the  lion  ! 

All  the  frenzy  of  his  first  flight  possessed  him  again. 
Extricating  himself  from  his  hiding-place,  he  dropped 
out  into  the  road,  tossed  his  purse  to  the  driver,  and 
plunged  into  the  path  which  Marco  and  Vittorio  had 
taken  the  day  before.  At  first  he  ran,  then  he  ad- 
vanced more  warily,  avoiding  the  cabins  of  the  guar- 
dians, and  making  for  a  wooded  ravine  not  far  distant. 
He  had  reached  it,  and  was  about  letting  himself 
down  the  rocks,  when  he  came  face  to  face  with  an 
old  woman.  She  stared  at  him,  uttered  a  faint  scream, 
and  dropped  a  bundle  of  green  herbs  she  had  in  her 
apron. 

Bruno  turned  from  her  without  a  sound,  and  fled 
in  another  direction.  He  knew  presently  that  he  was 
not  far  from  the  highway,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
turn  back.  A  great  wheat-field  was  near,  and  he 
slipped  into  it. 

This  field  was  a  sea  of  splendid,  rolling  gold, 
sprinkled  through  with  scarlet  poppies,  and  it  soared 
far  over  him  as  he  crawled  carefully  in  till  he  could 
see  nothing  on  all  sides  but  the  myriad  slender  stems 
of  the  ripe  grain.  Then  he  sank  down  and  listened, 
panting,  and  yet  trying  to  hush  his  heavy  breaths. 

He  crouched  on  the  ground  till  his  limbs  felt 
cramped  ;  then  he  sat.  The  sun  ran  over  the  wheat- 
heads,  rose  higher,  and  a  dazzling  rain  began  to  sift 
through  the  stems.  Bruno's  heart  was  thumping 
hard  and  high  in  his  breast,  and  his  thoughts  started 
out  like  sparks  from  an  anvil.  Marco  would  come 
back  to  Palestrina  ;  Rosa  would  know,  and  would  tell 
of  the  man  with  the  red  hands  hidden  among  the 


234  BY  THE    TIBER. 

wine-hogsheads ;  they  would  find  the  driver,  would 
learn  the  path  he  had  taken,  would  question  the  old 
woman  he  had  met,  and  —  there  they  were  now  ! 

There  was  a  sound  of  men's  voices,  but  they  were 
quiet  and  far  away,  and  some  one  was  singing  a 
vintage-song.  Not  yet ! 

He  lay  down,  stretched  at  length,  to  feel  the  cool- 
ness of  the  earth,  and  be  out  of  the  sun  for  a  little 
while  longer.  Ah !  why  had  he  left  Eome  ?  There 
was  safety,  a  thousand  hiding-places,  and  friends  at 
hand  who  were  bound  to  protect  him.  He  saw  now 
what  a  fatal  error  his  fright  had  led  him  into,  and  he 
knew  not  how  to  remedy  it,  even  if  he  could  have  es- 
caped into  some  other  town.  Why  had  he  not  run  into 
the  palace  itself  and  claimed  protection  ?  He  had  his 
story  all  ready  to  tell.  They  were  always  prepared, 
and  no  event  could  be  unforeseen  to  them.  He  was 
prepared,  then,  "in  case  any  accident  should  happen 
to  Vittorio,"  or  certain  others.  Of  course,  it  meant 
that  Vittorio  or  one  of  those  certain  others  might 
attack  him,  and  force  him  to  defend  himself. 

How  red  the  poppies  were !  How  horribly  they 
sprinkled,  drop  by  drop,  all  the  ground  about!  And 
his  hands  —  he  tried  to  wipe  them ;  but  Dives  him- 
self could  not  have  found  a  drop  of  water  here,  and 
the  stains  would  cling.  And  presently  there  was  a 
sound,  faint  and  thin,  no  sound  of  voice  or  step  of 
man  or  song  of  bird,  but  most  like  a  faint  intermit- 
tent whistling  of  wind  in  the  rigging  of  a  ship  at  sea, 
when  the  spirits  of  the  air  go  before  a  tempest.  It  was 
sharp  and  thin,  and  it  came  from  right  and  left  and 
from  before  him.  They  were  reaping  the  grain  toward  ' 
him  from  every  side. 

Bruno  raised  himself  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
gazed  about ;  but  saw  nothing.  The  field  was  large, 
and  they  were  yet  far  away.  There  were  five  sickles. 
He  could  count  them  in  the  sultry  silence,  and  they 


IN  A    WHEA  T-FIELD.  235 

were  in  a  semicircle  about  him.  At  the  other  side 
was  a  path,  and  open  spaces,  with  probably  no  nook 
to  hide  in. 

The  sun  went  up  and  hung  in  the  meridian,  and  the 
reapers  stopped ;  and  still  he  had  not  seen  them. 
Could  they  reap  all  the  afternoon  and  not  reach  him  ? 
He  stayed  there  on  his  hands  and  knees,  like  a  beast, 
and  waited.  The  sun  slanted  toward  the  west  a  little, 
blazing  down  with  its  long  rays.  The  reapers  began 
again,  and  he  crawled  inch  by  inch  away  from  the 
sound  of  them.  How  he  hated  the  daylight  witli  all 
its  blinding  red  and  gold  !  His  head  was  swimming 
with  the  heat,  and  with  hunger  and  thirst  too  ;  but 
he  did  not  think  of  that.  He  could  hear  the  severed 
handfuls  of  wheat  drop  on  the  pile,  and  fancied  that 
he  could  see  dark  blotches  of  human  forms  through 
the  yellow  wilderness. 

"  O  God ! "  he  muttered,  and  crawled  away,  care- 
fully parting  the  wheat-stalks,  that  they  might  not 
see  the  tops  move  as  they  came  steadily  toward  him 
with  their  five  crooked  blades.  Who  knew  but  that 
it  was  Marco's  revenge  that  they  should  hem  him  in 
so,  step  by  step,  till  they  should  reach  and  kill  him 
with  their  sickles,  that  he  could  hear  whispering  and 
hissing  nearer  every  moment  ? 

The  sun  declined,  and  changed  from  gold  to  orange 
and  from  orange  to  red.  He  could  hear  distinctly 
now  each  cut  of  the  blades,  each  drop  of  the  handfuls 
of  grain,  and  now  and  then  a  word  or  a  cough ;  and 
the  figures  of  the  men  were  seen  in  glimpses.  As  he 
crawled  on,  the  sweat  of  his  torment  fell  upon  the 
ground. 

And  by  and  by  other  dark  shapes,  showing  through 
the  wheat  before  him,  terrified  him  anew,  till  he 
knew  that  they  were  tree-supported  grape-vines  that 
ran  along  beside  the  path. 

The  crimson  of  the  sunlight  deepened;  soft  shadows 


236  BY  THE   TIBER. 

rose  from  the  ground,  pushed  the  red  off  the  wheat- 
tops,  and  faded  into  the  air.  . 

And  now  Bruno  could  see  the  forms  of  his  pursuers, 
and  the  glistening  of  the  steel,  quick  and  curved. 
He  crawled  to  the  tree  directly  before  him,  peeped 
out,  and  saw  that  the  land  was  nearly  open  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  path,  and  that  there  was  a  cabin 
not  far  away. 

He  was  longing  to  look  out,  to  see  the  path,  to 
look  up  to  Palestrina,  which  he  knew  would  be  just 
above  him,  and  to  see  how  far  he  was  from  the  high- 
way ;  but  he  dared  not.  The  vines  did  not  grow 
thickly  enough  ;  the  wheat  was  golden,  the  light  was 
rosy,  and  his  head  was  so  black,  so  black  !  And  how 
did  he  know  but  a  knife  was  waiting  for  it  to  be 
thrust  out  ? 

He  crept  close  to  the  tree,  and  looked  at  the  vine 
full  of  unripe  grapes.  They  cast  a  merciful  shadow 
over  him.  All  day  long  he  had  fled  before  the  reap- 
ers, —  how  horrible  it  was,  like  a  nightmare,  to  fly,on 
one's  knees! — and  this  was  the  first  touch  of  mercy 
that  he  had  felt.  It  had  been  all  burning  red  and 
yellow. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  path  were  vine-laden  trees 
thinly  set,  and  a  small  wheat-field  that  had  all  been 
reaped.  An  old  woman  was  going  about,  gathering 
up  the  scattered  stalks,  and  laying  them  on  a  yellow 
wall  of  wheat  that  stretched  along  the  field. 

It  was  the  woman  he  had  met  in  the  morning. 

He  watched  her,  wondering  if  she  would  betray 
him.  She  must  know  that  he  was  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood.  He  looked  at  the  cabin  door,  and 
fancied  that  he  saw  some  one  inside.  Then  he  turned 
his  head  backward,  and  listened.  There  was  no  sound. 
The  reapers  had  ceased  their  labors. 

Then  he  laid  his  cheek  to  the  earth,  where  the 
weeds  would  cover  his  head,  pushed  it  out  toward 


IN  A    WHEA  T-FIELD.  237 

the  path,  and  looked  up  to  Palestrina.  Nearly  all 
the  city  was  in  a  clear  pale  light,  only  the  higher 
points  being  still  red.  There  was  a  movement  along 
the  road  of  men  and  women  and  animals  going  up 
to  the  town  after  their  day's  work,  as  they  used  to  do 
when  he  was  a  boy.  On  the  mountain-top  the  hamlet 
of  San  Pietro  blazed  out  like  a  beacon. 

As  he  looked,  voices  came  up  the  path.  He  drew 
quickly  back,  and  peeped  out  at  a  party  that  sauntered 
by.  There  were  the  reapers,  with  their  scythes  on 
their  arms,  and  with  them  two  girls  who  had  been 
washing  clothes  at  a  fountain  farther  down  in  the 
plain.  The  girls  carried  large  baskets  of  clean  linen  on 
their  heads,  poised  lightly,  without  touching  a  hand 
to  them ;  and  they  laughed  and  jested,  and  stepped 
out  of  the  path  to  break  off  the  fresh  vine-tendrils 
and  eat  them.  One  pulled  at  the  vine  that  a  minute 
before  had  been  over  his  head.  He  felt  as  if  she  had 
caught  at  his  heart-strings  and  given  them  a  pull. 
They  passed  on,  and  went  out  into  the  highway  by 
San  Rocco ;  and  he  was  alone. 

"  Maria  Santissima  ! "  he  whispered,  and  began  to 
cry  with  his  face  against  the  brown  earth.  He  sobbed 
bitterly,  and  felt  deserted,  and  remembered  what  a 
host  of  boon  companions  he  had  had  but  a  few  days  be- 
fore. His  hands  shrank  away  from  the  slippery  poppy 
flowers,  with  their  warm  petals,  and  the  horrible  feel 
of  the  little  urn  in  the  centre.  He  wished  that  he 
had  let  Vittorio  alone.  After  all,  he  only  wanted  to 
uncover  the  man's  face,  and  see  who  he  was;  and 
what  harm  if  he  had  seen  ? 

He  heard  a  step,  and  again  fear  came  uppermost ; 
and  he  raised  his  head,  and  looked  stealthily  out  It 
was  the  old  woman  of  the  cabin,  and  she  came  down 
between  the  two  rows  of  vines  from  her  door  to  the 
path.  She  held  something  in  one  hand  with  her 
apron  thrown  over  it ;  she  looked  neither  to  right  nor 


238  BY  THE    TIBER. 

left,  but  upward ;  and  her  lips  were  moving,  and  tears 
dropped  down  her  face.  She  was  but  a  common  old 
woman  in  a  faded  skirt,  and  patched  corsets,  and  a 
cotton  neckerchief,  with  gold  rings  in  her  ears,  and  a 
silver  dagger  stuck  through  her  gray  hair,  but  sjie 
reminded  him  of  a  picture  he  had  seen  on  the  wall 
of  some  church,  he  had  forgotten  where.  He  had 
never  thought  of  the  picture  since  the  moment  when 
his  careless  eyes  glanced  over  it ;  but  now  he  seemed 
to  see  it  again,  not  lacking  the  nimbus. 

The  cool  dark  vines  and  the  yellow  stubble  were 
lifted  behind  her ;  and  as  she  came  nearer,  he  could 
hear  the  words  that  trembled  over  her  lips.  She  was 
praying  in  the  words  of  the  Salve  Regina,  "  To  thee 
we  cry,  poor  banished  children  of  Eve.  To  thee  we 
lift  up  our  sighs,  mourning  and  weeping  in  this  valley 
of  tears ; "  and  her  tears  dropped  down. 

She  reached  the  tree  behind  which  he  was  hidden, 
and  with  her  eyes  still  uplifted,  and  her  lips  still 
moving,  hastily  drew  her  apron  from  what  she  held, 
set  something  down  under  the  tree,  and  pushed  it 
into  the  screening  vine-leaves.  Then  she  rose  quickly 
and  went  back  toward  the  cabin. 

A  rude,  dark  man  came  to  the  door  and  called  her. 
She  answered,  stopped  an  instant  in  the  stubble, 
picked  up  a  few  wheat-stalks,  furtively  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  went  in. 

When  she  had  disappeared,  Bruno  looked  among 
the  weeds,  and  found  there,  folded  in  a  large  grape- 
leaf,  two  slices  of  gray  wheaten  bread  spread  with  a 
ricotta  of  goat's  milk,  and  in  another  leaf  a  little  flask 
of  white  wine.  Only  then  he  knew  that  he  was 
fainting  with  hunger  and  thirst. 

He  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  with  his  red  right 
hand,  and  ate  and  drank.  It  was  the  saint  of  the 
fresco  who  had  fed  him,  he  thought.  He  could  not 
know  that  all  day  long  she  had  watched  his  progress 


IN  A    WHEAT-FIELD.  239 

by  the  moving  wheat-heads,  and  that  she  had  given 
him  her  own  supper,  and  would  go  hungry  that  night. 
He  ate  and  drank,  and  did  not  inquire  how  she  had 
known,  sure  now  that  she  would  riot  tell.  Then  he 
sat  without  thinking,  his  mind  as  dim  as  the  twilight 
air  about  him ;  till  again  Ids  heart  swelled  suddenly, 
something  rose  in  his  throat,  and  he  wept  outright, 
with  his  face  to  the  earth. 

The  sound  of  the  Ave  Maria  bells  came  down  from 
the  town,  all  their  voices  at  once,  with  a  faint  tinkle 
from  the  mountain-top,  floating  like  a  bubble  over 
all.  Mingling  with  these  bells  he  heard  a  man's 
whistling.  It  seemed  to  be  some  one  coming  down 
from  San  Eocco,  slowly  sauntering,  and  whistling  fit- 
fully. 

With  his  first  start  of  renewed  terror  came  a  some- 
thing of  surprise  and  attention  that  did  not  dare  to 
be  hope,  but  was  a  piercing  doubt.  There  was  some- 
thing peculiar  in  this  whistling.  It  was  like  the  call 
of  a  bird,  followed  by  a  little  strain  that  spoke  of 
safety,  not  fully  played,  but  in  fragments,  with  short 
silences.  It  told  of  safety,  while  enjoining  caution. 

Bruno  crept  forward,  and  peeped  out. 

A  man  stood  farther  up  in  the  path,  gazing  at  the 
vines  and  trees,  as  if  he  were  a  stranger,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets;  and  as  Bruno  looked  out,  he  whistled 
again,  and  glanced  about  with  seeming  carelessness. 

The  fugitive's  heart  gave  a  bound.  He  half  rose, 
and,  still  stooping,  ran  through  the  wheat  till  he  came 
opposite  the  spot  where  his  comrade  stood,  gazing  in 
another  direction,  but  with  his  head  intent  on  the 
rustling  of  the  grain  behind  him. 

Bruno  whistled  softly.  It  was  like  the  distressed 
chirping  of  a  little  bird,  so  well  imitated  that  one 
might  have  believed  that  a  nest  had  been  disturbed, 
or  that  the  mother-bird  had  had  a  dream  of  cats  and 
serpents,  and  had  wakened  with  that  little  cry. 


24C)  BY  THE    TIBER. 

The  man  in  the  path,  without  looking  his  way, 
drew  nearer  to  the  spot  whence  the  sounds  proceeded, 
and  stood,  still  with  his  back  to  it,  looking  up  into  a 
tree. 

"  For  God's  sake,  get  me  out  of  this ! "  whispered 
Bruno.  "  Is  anybody  watching  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  Follow  me,  but  keep  out  of 
sight  all  you  can.  If  I  cough,  stop." 

So  saying,  he  sauntered  up  the  path  to  the  gate, 
Bruno  following  in  the  wheat  till  it  ceased,  then  glid- 
ing from  tree  to  tree.  At  the  gate  his  leader  paused. 
There  was  no  person  in  sight. 

A  little  open  city  carriage  that  had  been  waiting 
farther  along  the  road  came  slowly  by.  There  was  a 
woman  in  it.  It  did  not  stop ;  but  the  two  men  ran 
out  and  got  into  it  while  it  was  in  motion. 

For  a  while  nothing  was  said.  They  passed  San 
Kocco,  and  the  wine-shop  opposite,  and  took  the  road 
to  Rome.  Then  the  woman  put  her  hand  on  Bru- 
no's arm,  and  said,  "  What  a  fool  you  were  to  run 
away !  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  always  safe 
with  us  ? " 

"  Marco  was  after  me,"  he  said,  shaking.  "  Where 
is  he  now  ? " 

"  He  started  off  to  Albano.  He  did  n't  seem  to 
know  where  he  was  going.  Some  people  said  that 
they  thought  he  was  crazy.  I  should  n't  wonder  if 
he  would  kill  himself.  He  was  always  a  gloomy 
fellow." 

"  Is  —  is  all  out  of  sight  ? "  Bruno  asked. 

"Everything  is  arranged,"  said  the  other.  "We 
convinced  Marco  that  it  was  better  to  let  the  matter 
drop.  He  could  do  nothing,  and  he  knew  it.  He 
will  study  over  it,  and  he  may  lose  his  head,  and  say 
something;  but  you  are  safe.  Say  that  the  fellow 
attacked  you,  and  that  you  defended  yourself.  You 
were  sorry  ;  and  while  you  were  trying  to  revive  Vit- 


ON  THE  SEA.  241 

torio,  Marco  appeared,  and  you  ran.  That  is  all  you 
know.  But  nobody  will  ever  ask  you." 

Bruno  breathed  freer.  He  had  certainly  been  a 
great  fool  to  run  out  of  the  city.  Slowly,  like  water 
filtering  into  an  empty  reservoir,  courage '  came  back 
to  his  heart.  Life  grew  secure,  then  bright,  and  his 
crime  excusable. 

To-morrow  he  would  smile,  the  day  after  he  would 
laugh,  and  in  a  week  his  nerves  would  have  regained 
their  tone.  Another  time  he  would  show  more  pru- 
dence, and  would  depend  more  on  his  frieuds. 

Moreover,  his  friends  could  now  depend  more  se- 
curely on  him,  for  he  was  in  their  power. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ON  THE   SEA. 

MARCO  had  gone  to  Albano,  as  Bruno's  friend 
informed  him,  and  he  had  gone  unconsciously, 
or  nearly  so.  He  was,  in  fact,  so  sunk  in  gloomy  per- 
plexity and  silent,  bitter  grief,  as  to  have  no  con- 
sciousness of  any  present  save  the  terrible  event  of 
the  past  night.  With  a  sort  of  instinct  of  returning 
home,  he  had  gone  to  the  station ;  but  he  could  not 
be  aware  that  the  habit  to  which  he  resigned  himself 
for  guidance  was  not  the  habit  of  later  years.  As  in 
old  age,  delirium,  or  death,  the  soul  sometimes  strips 
itself  of  later  years,  as  of  a  garment,  and  goes  wander- 
ing back  amid  the  scenes  of  its  childhood,  so  he,  con- 
vulsed by  a  more  ruinous  blow  than  any  which  li;nl 
yet  fallen  upon  him,  gave  himself  up  to  a  habit  of  his 
early  youth.  He  was  a  native  of  Nettuno,  and  had 
been  gardener  first  in  the  Villa  Borghese  by  the  sea ; 
and  to  Nettuno  he  bent  his  way  when  he  thought  to 

16 


242  BY  THE    TIBER. 

go  home.  If  he  had  been  a  younger  man,  or  a  less 
clear-sighted  one,  he  would  have  been  frenzied  by 
what  had  happened.  As  it  was,  he  was  paralyzed. 

His  head  hanging  forward,  his  face  haggard  and 
vacant,  he  had  gone  to  the  ticket-office  because  the 
others  went,  without  looking  to  see  what  train  was 
advertised ;  and  when  the  man  at  the  window  asked 
him  if  he  wanted  third-class,  he  answered  yes.  He 
would  have  answered  the  same  if  he  had  been  offered 
first-class.  He  looked  out  the  car-window  as  they 
rolled  over  the  campagna,  but  saw  nothing ;  or  rather 
he  saw  only  the  scenes  of  the  past  night.  To  the 
present  scenes  his  eyes  were  sightless.  If  some  faint 
sense  of  familiarity  was  touched,  it  only  helped  him 
to  go  on. 

Leaving  the  station  at  Albano,  he  took  the  old 
familiar  western  road  to  the  sea.  A  cart  came  along 
presently,  and  he  accepted  the  driver's  invitation  to 
ride.  He  rode  almost  to  Porto  d'Anzio.  The  driver 
thought  that  he  was  sleepy,  and  after  the  first  few 
minutes  did  not  urge  him  to  talk.  Marco  shut  his 
eyes,  dropped  his  head,  and  let  his  mind  wander 
about.  It  wandered  calmly  enough,  for  its  passions 
were  benumbed.  It  reasoned  clearly  enough,  too,  and 
told  him  that  he  could  do  nothing.  Of  course  he 
could  kill  Bruno,  and  meant  to  the  first  time  they 
met,  or  that  he  chose  to  seek  the  fellow.  That  was  a 
matter  of  course,  and  a  trifle.  But  how  could  he 
reach  the  power  behind  Bruno,  and  for  whom  that 
insignificant  fellow  acted  ?  He  had  an  impulse  in 
the  night,  and  again  in  the  early  morning,  to  rush 
into  the  palace,  and  kill  all  that  he  met  there,  —  not 
the  servants,  but  the  family.  But  what  would  he 
have  gained  ?  They  would  have  killed  him  perhaps, 
before  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  anything ;  and  his 
class  and  his  cause  would  have  been  the  worse  for 
his  violence.  If  he  could  have  died  at  the  head  of 


ON  THE  SEA.  243 

a  conquering  army  doing  battle  for  the  poor,  then  he 
would  have  gone  to  death  with  all  the  fire  of  youth ; 
but  he  had  learned  how  ruinous  to  the  principle  he 
would  serve  are  all  these  ineffectual  outbreaks.  They 
were  worse  than  useless.  Either  be  strong  enough  to 
overset  all,  or  do  not  move. 

The  cart  stopped. 

"  Are  you  going  to  Porto  d'Anzio  ? "  the  driver 
asked. 

Marco  opened  his  eyes  and  knew  where  he  was. 

He  answered  in  the  affirmative  as  he  got  down 
from  the  cart.  The  man  offered  him  some  bread 
and  wine.  He  accepted  them,  gave  the  driver  some 
money,  and  went  forward  on  foot.  He  was  glad  that 
he  was  not  going  to  Villa  Frattina,  or  to  meet  any 
one  whom  he  knew.  He  wanted  to  be  alone  and 
silent  while  his  mind  was  wandering  in  this  laby- 
rinth. 

It  was  now  afternoon,  and  the  slanting  sun-rays 
were  deepening  in  hue.  He  struck  into  a  shady  ave- 
nue, and,  avoiding  Anzio,  went  toward  Nettuno,  with- 
out knowing  what  he  should  do  there.  The  avenue 
was  long  and  still.  He  met  a  carriage  or  two,  but  no 
foot-passengers.  All  the  town  was  in  the  piazza 
where  the  band  was  playing.  He  stopped  a  moment, 
and  seemed  to  listen  to  the  music,  then  went  onward 
to  the  road  that  runs  along  the  seaside,  where  the 
town  ends,  and  Nature  resumes  her  empire. 

Marco  went  down  to  the  wide  flat  beach  outside 
the  town.  His  manhood  was  up  in  arms,  all  engaged 
in  a  moral  struggle ;  and  his  childhood,  rising  like  a 
flower  that  the  tempest  has  swept  the  dry  leaves 
away  from,  lured  him  into  the  old,  childish  path ;  as 
when  he  went  down  there,  long  ago  after  a  storm,  to 
gather  shells  that  the  sea  had  left,  or  bits  of  precious 
marble,  or  tiny  crabs. 

The  sea  was  of  a  bright  blue,  all  sparkling  with 


244  BY  THE   TIB E It. 

ripples,  and  came  in  in  long  rollers  of  shifting  hues 
and  shadows,  and  broke  softly  in  a  narrow  fringe  of 
foam  on  the  beach,  or  tossed  and  caught  prismatic 
colors  against  the  high  rocks  farther  along,  where  the 
shore  makes  its  long,  fading  curve  toward  the  far-off 
promontory  of  the  Siren. 

There  was  a  boat  near  by  coming  toward  him,  pro- 
pelled by  short  strokes ;  and  there  were  two  men  in 
it.  They  pushed  up  on  the  beach ;  and  while  one 
held  the  boat  in  its  place  with  his  oar,  the  other 
stepped  out  into  the  shallow  water,  and  shouldered  a 
fishing  net.  There  were  bright  fishes  glittering  in 
the  sunlight  at  the  bottom  of  the  net,  which  swung 
to  and  fro  as  they  leaped.  The  sun  showed  only 
a  spark  on  the  horizon,  but  a  faint  blush  lay  on  the 
sea. 

Marco  went  down  to  the  water  as  he  saw  the  man 
in  the  boat  putting  off  again,  when  his  companion  had 
gone  away  across  the  road,  and  asked  for  his  boat  for 
an  hour. 

The  man  stopped  rowing,  but  looked  at  him  doubt- 
fully. 

"  I  will  pay  you  in  advance,"  Marco  said,  "  and 
leave  a  security  in  your  hands.  In  an  hour  or  two 
I  will  come  back  here  with  the  boat.  I  only  want 
a  row." 

The  man  looked  at  the  money  offered  him,  and 
came  back.  He  took  his  net  with  the  fishes  in  it  on 
his  shoulder,  as  the  other  had  done,  and  went  home- 
ward on  foot,  telling  Marco  where  his  house  was 
on  the  shore,  half-way  to  Anzio,  and  asking  him  to 
leave  the  boat  there  when  he  was  done  with  it. 

Marco  nodded  and  rowed  himself  away  from  the 
shore. 

The  fishing-boats  were  going  out  from  Porto  d' An- 
zio, each  with  its  two  pointed  sails  spread,  looking 
like  a  flock  of  gray  moths  hovering  over  the  water. 


ON  THE  SEA.  245 

Soft  in  the  soft  air,  they  skimmed  lightly  out  to  drag 
their  nets  all  night  under  the  stars,  and  come  back  at 
dawn  with  their  glittering  freight.  The  light-house 
shone  like  a  red-gold  star  in  the  west ;  and  far  out  to 
the  eastward,  at  the  other  horn  of  the  sea-crescent, 
the  promontory  of  the  Siren  floated  in  a  violet  mist. 
It  was  like  a  woman  cast  down  on  her  face,  her  limbs 
outstretched,  the  whole  outline  tapering  to  the  ankle 
and  foot.  Her  arms  were  folded  under  her  face,  her 
dishevelled  hair  fell  over  them,  her  head  was  toward 
the  sea.  The  figure  lay  as  the  deserted  Ariadne 
might  have  fallen  when  she  had  seen  her  traitorous 
lover's  sail  go  down  below  the  horizon. 

Marco  glanced  over  it  all  as  unmoved  as  a  mirror 
which  reflects  indifferently  whatever  passes  before  it; 
more  unmoved,  indeed,  for  he  did  not  even  brighten 
outwardly.  He  darkened  instead  in  the  midst  of  this 
scene,  so  full  of  peaceful  splendor.  The  rough  roads, 
the  rattling  train,  the  dark,  brigand-haunted,  malaria- 
poisoned  forest  he  had  passed  through  had  been 
fitted  to  his  mood  ;  but  this  clear  light  and  serene  joy, 
on  which  his  fate  stood  out  black  and  distorted, 
stirred  the  sleeping  fury  in  him. 

He  began  to  row  hard,  straining  at  the  oars,  and 
muttering.  All  his  baffled  hopes  and  hates  and 
loves,  all  his  imprisoned  and  despairing  aspirations, 
all  the  rage  which  years  of  self-control  had  kept  mute 
within  him,  biding  its  time,  began  to  gather  and  rock 
to  and  fro  in  his  soul  as  the  water  rocked  under  his 
boat-keel. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Marco  to  appeal  to  the 
law.  He  despised  it  as  much  as  Bruno  did,  though 
from  a  different  cause.  He  well  knew  that  the  law 
would  never  punish  the  great  for  a  crime  against  the 
small  He  had  never  looked  for  justice,  save  from 
Garibaldi,  or  from  his  own  strong  hand.  The  law 
meant  to  him  nothing  but  a  cunning  labyrinth  by 


246  BY  THE   TIBER. 

which  the  powerful  escape  the  punishment  of  their 
crimes,  and  in  which  the  weak  are  hopelessly  lost. 
There  was  no  help  anywhere.  "  They  destroy  every- 
thing beautiful ;  Felicita,  Italia,  Vittorio  —  ' 

He  raised  an  oar  and  struck  at  the  smiling,  dim- 
pling sea,  as  if  it  were  a  face  that  mocked  him,  — 
struck  with  a  fury  that  nearly  overset  his  boat.  A  cry 
like  the  roar  of  a  lion  broke  from  his  lips,  and  rolled 
across  the  water. 

Why  had  he  not  killed  that  woman  when  she  was 
in  his  power,  and  so  struck  one  blow,  if  but  a  futile 
one  ?  Why  had  he  let  those  people  pass  him,  day 
after  day,  in  their  insolent  prosperity,  and  go  un- 
harmed ? 

He  leaned  and  clutched  at  the  waters,  and  they 
escaped  his  grasp  ;  he  shouted  his  curses,  and  shook 
his  clenched  hands  backward  to  the  shore ;  foam  fell 
from  his  lips. 

He  was  killing  himself,  just  as  Felicita's  father  had 
done  long  ago ;  and  he  knew  it,  and  did  not  care. 

And  meanwhile  the  long  twilight  had  faded,  and 
it  was  deep  night.  The  lighthouse  burned  steadily 
in  the  dark  west,  the  stars  burned  tremulously  in 
the  dark  sky,  and  faint  firefly  lights  showed  where  the 
fleet  of  fishers  hung  over  the  live  treasures  of  the 
deep. 

And  then  a  soft,  ineffable  splendor  shone  around 
the  eastern  mountains,  but  so  faintly  that  the  Milky 
Way  lay  unblenched  before  it.  It  was  as  though  the 
melancholy  spirit  of  darkness  had  looked  out  from 
under  her  dusky  eyelids,  now  that  all  the  world  was 
asleep.  Scarcely  parting  the  heavy  shadows,  she  came, 
holding  aloft  the  pallid  crescent  of  the  dying  moon  for 
a  lamp.  A  flickering  path  of  silver  ran  across  the 
peaceful  waters,  and  crossed  a  flickering  golden  path 
that  stretched  from  a  southern  star.  A  whiter  white- 
ness shone  in  the  face  of  Marco  Bandini,  lying  in- 


ON  THE  SEA.  247 

sensible  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  that  idly  tossed 
upon  the  water.  The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  light 
breeze  that  precedes  the  day  began  to  give  its  delicate 
touches  here  and  there.  The  east  whitened,  and  then 
warmed  with  ruddy  gold. 

Marco  opened  his  eyes,  raised  himself  painfully, 
and  looked  about,  and  remembered  all.  He  looked 
at  the  water,  and  wondered  if  he  should  throw  him- 
self into  it,  and  so  end  all  He  looked  off  to  the 
dim  sea-line  beyond  the  Sirens,  and  wondered  if  he 
would  row  toward  that,  and  take  his  chance  of  meeting 
a  ship  which  would  bear  him  to  some  other  country. 
He  could  never  go  back  to  this  accursed  shore. 

There  was  a  small  cloud  over  the  east  that  was  a 
bright  pink  with  the  sunrise.  It  hung  there  in  a 
motionless  ecstasy  with  the  coming  day.  The  water 
reflected  it,  and  seemed  to  kiss  it,  dyeing  its  little 
ripples  red  with  the  touch.  Its  image  passed  un- 
heeded over  Marco's  wandering  eyes,  then  presently 
touched  some  chord  that  gave  a  faint  dream  of  a 
sound.  He  did  not  heed  it ;  but  the  sweet  murmur 
continued  till  he  looked  up  at  the  cloud,  with  just  a 
cold  idle  thought  that  it  was  as  red  as  a  rose. 

Eosa  ! 

"  Little  Eosa  !  "  The  words  came  in  a  hoarse  whis- 
per, and  all  his  strained  soul  melted  as  he  uttered 
them.  Where  was  she  ?  What  would  she  do  without 
him  ! 

He  took  up  his  oars,  and  rowed  backward  to  the 
shore,  and  tears  rose  to  his  eyes,  and  dropped  down, 
one  by  one.  He  sobbed  now  and  then,  a  sob  as  pitiful 
as  that  of  a  lost  child  that  is  tired  of  weeping,  yet 
cannot  help  but  sob.  Poor  little  Eosa !  He  would 
not  leave  her  to  weep.  If  he  was  good  for  nothing  to 
himself,  he  was  good  for  her.  It  was  because  she  was 
hidden  unseen  in  his  heart  that  he  had  not  died  that 
night,  he  thought. 


248  BY  THE    TIBER. 

He  looked  at  the  palace  on  the  shore,  at  the  trees 
behind,  the  long  beach,  and  the  solitary  sanctuary  of 
the  Madonna  set  close  to  the  water ;  and  scenes  of 
his  childhood  came  back  to  him.  The  water  had  not 
been  so  high  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  a  wide  beach 
ran  round  outside  the  palace  walls  where  now  a  bar- 
rier of  stone-work  had  been  built  to  preserve  the 
foundations  from  the  gnawing  waves.  In  those  days 
the  procession  that  carried  the  image  of  the  Madonua 
on  her  festa  had  walked  quite  round  the  beach  where 
now  the  waves  rolled  perpetually.  He  was  one  of  a 
choir  of  boys  who  sang  as  they  walked,  and  he  wore 
a  little  white  cotta  ironed  into  herring-bone  stripes. 
The  gray  beach  was  gay  with  color ;  for  the  peasant- 
women  wore  their  scarlet  robes  with  gold-embroidered 
sashes  fringed  with  little  silver  or  gold  bells,  —  a  dress 
fit  for  a  princess,  and  brighter  even  than  Monsignor 
the  Bishop's  cope  of  gold  cloth.  He  remembered  the 
keen  Arab  faces  of  these  women  ;  he  remembered  how 
the  little  shells  crunched  under  his  feet  as  he  walked 
singing  before  the  Madonna,  and  how  the  sea  came  up 
the  shore  and  sang  with  them,  and  was  never  out  of 
time  or  tune,  and  how  the  men  out  in  the  boats  took 
off  their  hats  as  the  procession  passed  along  to  the 
sanctuary.  He  remembered  how  his  eyes  had  roved 
about  the  smooth,  firm  sand  in  search  of  what  the 
tide  had  left,  fragments  of  many-colored.  Egyptian 
marble,  bits  of  red  porphyry,  dark  serpentine  with  its 
tiny  blocks  of  lighter  green,  and  the  dimmed  sunshine 
of  antique  yellow.  Seeing  a  bit  of  lapis-lazuli  that 
showed  its  splendid  blue  under  the  pearly  lid  of  a 
shell,  he  had  started  out  of  the  procession,  caught 
it  up,  and  returned  to  his  place,  without  ceasing  to 
sing. 

The  boat  touched  the  beach,  and  its  owner  stood 
there  wondering  and  displeased.  Marco  made  some 
excuse,  and  paid  him  liberally.  Then  he  went  to  the 


ON  THE  SEA.  249 

piazza,  and  got  into  the  diligence  that  was  about 
starting  for  Albano.  He  was  quite  alone.  At  this 
season  people  were  coming  to  the  sea,  not  going 
away. 

They  drove  off  through  the  wood  by  which  he  had 
come  the  night  before.  The  driver,  finding  that  his 
passenger  did  not  wish  to  talk,  dropped  the  curtain 
between  them,  and  solaced  himself  with  a  cigar. 

Marco  was  saying  the  rosary ;  and  since  he  had  no 
beads,  he  said  them  on  his  ten  fingers.  At  the  Our 
Father  he  clasped  his  hands.  He  was  praying  for 
Vittorio. 

At  Albano  he  took  the  railway  to  Valmontone,  and 
from  there  he  went  home  on  foot  across  the  vines  and 
fields  by  which  he  and  Vittorio  had  passed  two  days 
before. 

When  he  reached  the  old  road,  Rosa  stood  at  the 
villa  gate  watching  for  him.  She  uttered  a  cry,  and 
came  to  meet  him. 

"  Papa !  why  did  n't  you  come  home  yesterday  ? 
I  waited  all  day,  and  I  would  n't  go  back  at  night,  but 
stayed  here." 

Then,  seeing  his  face,  she  added,  "  What  is  the 
matter  ? " 

"  I  'm  not  very  well.  I  think  I  may  have  a  touch 
of  fever,"  he  said,  and  leaned  on  her  shoulder. 

Silently  she  supported  him  across  the  road,  and 
in  at  the  gate.  When  they  reached  the  crumbling 
Janus,  he  staggered  and  fell  against  it. 

"  Don't  cry  ! "  he  said  faintly.  "  Go  and  get  me 
some  wine.  It 's  nothing."  And  he  thought :  "  I  can 
do  nothing,  because  she  must  not  know." 


250  BY  THE   TIBER. 

CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

UNDER  THE  PASSION-FLOWERS. 

'T^O  those  of  her  friends  who  wondered  that  she 
JL  should  remain  in  Rome  so  late,  the  Countess 
Belvedere  explained  that  she  was  waiting  to  see  some 
friends  from  the  East  who  could  not  possibly  stop  to 
visit  her  out  of  town.  Her  dear  Gabriella  had  been 
for  a  long  time  in  India,  where  her  husband,  the  Mar- 
quis de  Massy,  had  a  French  government  appoint- 
ment. Now  the  Marquis  was  sent  to  London,  as  an 
attache  of  the  French  embassy,  and  Gabriella  was 
obliged  to  go  across  the  world  from  east  to  west 
almost  as  rapidly  as  the  sun  did. 

The  Countess  was  very  circumstantial  in  her  ac- 
count, and  even  told  the  whole  story  to  persons  who 
never  asked  her  anything.  There  is  nothing  like  the 
frankness  and  clearness  of  people  who  have  a  great 
deal  of  mischief  to  conceal.  They  are  always  pre- 
pared. It  is  only  honest  people  who  can  afford 
to  refuse  to  give  reasons  to  everybody  for  their 
conduct. 

To  her  father,  who  did  not  recollect  to  have  ever 
heard  of  this  suddenly  beloved  friend  since  the  days 
when  ,?he  was  his  daughter's  schoolmate,  and  not  her 
favorite  one,  another  reason  was  given.  Gabriella 
had  a  large  collection  of  Indian  shawls,  and  the  Coun- 
tess hoped  to  persuade  her  to  sell  one  at  a  bargain ; 
and  she  had  heaps  of  Indian  embroideries,  and  had 
been  especially  commissioned  to  bring  to  her  friend  a 
gold-colored  crepe  shawl,  heavy  with  embroidery,  of 
which  the  Countess  proposed  to  make  a  tunic  which 
should  be  richer  than  cloth  of  gold.  With  all  these 
toilet  splendors  in  prospect,  one  could  bear  Borne  in 
August 


UNDER    THE  PASSION-FLOWERS.  251 

These  travellers  from  the  Orient  arrived  the  after- 
noon of  the  day  on  which  Vittorio  went  to  Palestrina. 
They  were  too  much  fatigued  to  leave  their  hotel  that 
evening ;  but  the  next  day  Gabriella  was  to  spend 
with  her  friend,  and  the  Marquis  would  come  to 
dinner.  In  the  evening  they  were  to  pursue  their 
journey. 

The  Countess  Belvedere  had  a  bottle  of  chloral  on 
her  toilet-table.  She  very  seldom  took  it;  for  her 
youth  and  health  rendered  it  unnecessary  as  yet. 
She  took  some  after  her  interview  with  Marco,  hav- 
ing first  had  a  hot  bath,  or  rather  having  had  a  hot 
bath  given  her  almost  forcibly  by  her  maid.  For 
Marco's  treatment  had  thrown  her  into  such  a  fury, 
that  she  was  near  breaking  all  the  mirrors  and  win- 
dows in  the  palace.  That  that  beast,  as  she  called 
him,  had  received  any  provocation,  or  had  any  ex- 
cuse, she  did  not  for  an  instant  own. 

The  hot  bath  and  the  chloral  were  not  without 
their  effect;  and,  before  Marco  had  reached  Alba- 
no,  she  was  sound  asleep,  soothed  by  her  faithful 
Lucia,  who  sat  by  her  repeating  that  she  was  not  in 
the  least  to  blame  for  what  had  happened,  and  that 
she  need  not  be  in  the  least  anxious  about  the  fu- 
ture. Bruno  would  be  found,  there  were  scouts 
out  in  search  of  him;  and  if,  by  ill  luck,  he  and 
Marco  should  meet,  why,  he  would  at  least  tell  no 
tales. 

With  all  these  soothing  cares,  the  Countess  Belve- 
dere slept  like  an  innocent  babe,  and  woke  refreshed. 
While  Marco  was  passing  through  the  poisonous 
macckia  to  Porto  d'Anzio,  and  Bruno  was  crawling 
away  from  the  reapers  in  the  Agro  Palestrinese, 
Madama  Adelaide  was  at  her  morning  toilet.  A 
rose-colored  muslin,  a  faint  touch  of  rouge  to  her 
cheeks,  and  a  cup  of  strong  coffee  brought  a  look 
of  life  into  her  pallid  face;  and  when  her  friend 


252  BY  THE    TIBER. 

arrived  just  after  midday,  she  was  apparently  quite 
herself. 

The  two  ladies  breakfasted  alone,  and,  after  half  an 
hour's  chat,  retired  to  their  rooms  for  a  nap,  both  of 
them  having  drunk  wine  enough  to  make  lying  down 
quite  as  easy  as  sitting  up.  The  Countess,  who  was 
still  a  little  romantic,  did  not  smoke,  and  her  friend, 
who  was  past  romance,  enjoyed  her  cigarettes  in 
private. 

At  five  o'clock  they  went  out  for  a  drive,  going  up 
Monte  Mario  for  the  air,  and  at  seven  they  came 
back.  The  Marquis  had  not  yet  come.  He  was  to 
bring  with  him,  to  make  a  fourth  at  the  table,  a  dis- 
tinguished Monsignore  from  the  Vatican,  who  was 
glad  of  this  opportunity  of  seeing  people  just  from 
the  East  who  could  give  him  the  latest  news,  with  all 
those  particulars  and  corrections  which  one  cannot 
hope  to  have  from  the  journals,  nor  from  less  well- 
informed  correspondents  and  travellers. 

"And  now  let  us  go  into  the  garden  till  they 
come,"  the  visitor  said.  "  I  recollect  that  it  used  to 
be  charming  here." 

The  Countess  had  not  invited  her  guest  into  the 
garden,  and  had  tried  to  lead  her  thoughts  elsewhere ; 
but  she  assented  readily  to  the  proposal,  and  gayly 
led  the  way  out  through  the  broad  glass  doors  that 
stood  wide  open,  and  across  the  black  and  white 
paved  terrace  where  she  had  sat  and  known  that  Vit- 
torio  was  watching  her  through  the  laurels. 

They  walked  about  among  the  flowers,  talking 
gossip. 

The  garden  was  looking  a  little  neglected  that  day. 
Two  days'  inattention  at  such  a  season  tells.  Nothing 
had  been  watered,  and  the  opening  flowers  of  to-day 
had  pushed  yesterday's  flowers  aside.  The  grass  un- 
der the  camellias  was  strewn  with  blossoms  that  were 
still  fresh,  though  fallen.  They  had  no  stems,  but 


UNDER    THE  PASSION-FLOWERS.  253 

the  petals  were  bright.  The  colors  were  varied  :  some 
were  white,  others  red,  others  mixed  red  and  white. 
A  pink  carpet  was  spread  under  the  oleanders,  and 
the  rose-trees  stood  in  a  rosy  morning  cloud  of  piled- 
up  petals. 

"  What  a  profusion  of  flowers  ! "  exclaimed  the 
visitor.  "  You  must  have  a  good  gardener." 

"  Excellent !  "  was  the  reply. 

They  walked  on.  Here  and  there,  near  the  walls, 
a  green  lemon  or  a  wild  mandarin  had  dropped  on 
the  path. 

"  There  is  quite  a  little  forest  of  oranges,"  said  the 
visitor,  pointing  across  the  garden  and  turning  her 
steps  in  that  direction. 

"  The  camellias  are  rather  fine,"  said  the  Countess 
hastily.  "  Don't  you  want  one  to  put  in  your  hair  ? " 

The  lady  returned. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  a  white  one,"  she  said.  "  That 
farther  tree  is  white.  But  where  is  the  gardener, 
dear  ?  You  will  hurt  your  fingers." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  like  to  gather  flowers."  The  Countess 
pulled  a  low  branch  toward  her,  and  was  about  break- 
ing one  of  the  beautiful  white  flowers  with  which  it 
was  thickly  set,  when  suddenly  she  cried  out,  and  let 
the  branch  swing  back. 

"  There  was  a  bee  in  it,  and  I  believe  that  it  has 
stung  me,"  she  said,  her  face  very  red,  as  she  pressed 
her  finger  in  her  handkerchief.  And  she  hurried  away, 
leaving  the  camellia  ungathered.  She  had  seen  a  dark 
red  stain  on  one  of  its  waxen  petals. 

She  followed  toward  the  oranges  unconsciously,  her 
face  still  red,  her  finger  still  held  in  her  handkerchief, 
her  friend  pitying  her  volubly ;  till,  finally,  they  found 
out  that  the  bee  had  not  stung  her  after  all. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ? "  the  visitor 
said;  for  the  Countess,  finding  herself  beside  tho 
oranges,  stopped  abruptly,  her  color  fading. 


254  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  Oh,  nothing !  But,  really,  I  had  such  a  start. 
I  am  afraid  of  bees." 

The  other,  who  thought  her  friend  affected  and  un- 
interesting, tripped  around  the  orange-trees  with  an 
exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"  Passion-flowers  !  There  is  nothing  that  I  like  so 
much."  And  she  began  to  pull  one  after  another  toward 
her  with  her  slender  gem-laden  lingers,  and  to  look 
into  their  mournful  faces  to  see  which  was  the  finest. 

The  Countess,  after  hesitating  one  instant,  pressed 
her  lips  together  tightly,  and  followed,  standing  at  a 
little  distance. 

This  retired  spot,  like  a  room  with  a  roof  taken  off, 
and  an  orange-tree  for  a  door,  had  a  sombre  and  mys- 
terious air.  Poor  Vittorio  had  called  it  the  Chapel, 
and  had  banished  from  it  every  flower  but  the  purple 
and  white  of  oranges  and  passion-vine.  In  a  rough 
niche  in  the  wall  he  had  set  a  small  bust  of  some 
young  unknown  person  that  the  Countess  had  said 
resembled  him.  This  face  looked  out  through  the 
leaves.  Two  sides  of  the  wall  were  draped  with  the 
vine ;  the  third  was  bare,  and  had  been  meant  to 
hold  white  jasmine.  Under  this  bare  wall  the  earth 
was  newly  turned.  The  setting  sun  shot  across  the 
top  of  the  wall  without  entering,  only  a  dull  red  glow 
falling  into  the  shade ;  and  the  pointed  leaves  of  the 
aloes  set  along  the  top  of  the  wall  seemed  dripping 
in  that  light. 

"  The  very  largest  one,  by  far  the  finest,  is  just  an 
inch  out  of  my  reach,  Adele,"  her  friend  said.  "  I  am 
quite  longing  for  that.  As  you  like  to  gather  flowers, 
cannot  you  break  it  for  me  ?  You  are  taller  than  I. 
I  am  sure  there  is  no  bee  here." 

The  Countess  Belvedere  smiled  strangely.  The 
other  was  looking  up  at  the  flower,  and  did  not  ob- 
serve her  face.  She  stepped  forward,  set  her  foot 
where  her  knee  had  touched  the  ground  before  Marco 


UNDER    THE  PASSION-FLOWERS.  255 

that  morning,  and  stretched  her  arm  for  the  flower. 
It  grew  at  the  end  of  a  wandering  vine  that  came  out 
on  the  bare  wall. 

But  her  movement  was  too  hasty.  She  snatched 
violently  upward,  and,  feeling  her  foot  sink  in  the  soft 
earth,  shrieked  out,  and  in  trying  to  extricate  herself, 
fell  at  full  length  on  Vittorio's  grave. 

The  servants  ran,  her  maid  foremost  among  them. 
Sh3  was  lifted,  arid  helped,  half  fainting,  into  the 
house,  where  she  sat  shivering,  and  trying  to  drink 
the  wine  they  brought  her.  Her  eyes  were  staring  as 
if  she  had  seen  a  ghost. 

"  My  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  her  friend  cried. 
"  I  caunot  imagine  why  you  look  so  terrified.  Are 
you  hurt  in  any  way  ? " 

"  It  is  nothing.  I  am  a  fool."  The  Countess  rose. 
"  Is  my  dress  all  dust  ?  The  truth  is,  staying  in 
Rome  has  made  me  nervous.  Eoman  air  always  does 
make  me  nervous,  especially  in  the  summer.  Do  see 
if  I  am  all  covered  with  dust." 

She  went  to  a  long  mirror,  and  stood  turning  her- 
self about  before  it,  and  her  maid  shook  out  her 
dress,  a  lace-worked  black  grenadine  made  over  red 
satin,  and  assured  her  that  there  was  not  a  speck 
on  it. 

"  But  my  shoe  and  stocking  ?  "  she  said,  and,  seating 
herself,  put  her  foot  out,  without  looking  at  it,  her 
face  turned  away. 

The  girl  removed  the  small  black  satin  slipper,  and 
passed  her  hands  over. the  black  silk  stockings  wrought 
with  red  silks. 

"  There  is  nothing,  Contessa,  not  a  speck  anywhere," 
she  said. 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  away  with  you  to-night, 
Gabriella,"  the  Countess  said  abruptly.  "  I  have  only 
waited  for  you  to  come,  and  I  meant  to  leave  im- 
mediately." 


256  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"It  would  be  delightful,  my  dear,  to  have  your 
company  as  far  as  Florence." 

"  I  will  go.  There  are  yet  almost  three  hours.  In 
three  hours  one  can  prepare  to  go  anywhere." 

The  gentlemen  came  shortly  after,  and  there  was  a 
very  bright  little  dinner,  during  which  the  politics  of 
the  East  were  thoroughly  discussed  by  the  two  gentle- 
men, and  the  fashions  of  the  East  by  the  two  ladies. 

Three  hours  after  the  Countess  Belvedere  was  on 
her  way  to  Florence. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

ROBACCIA  DI  ROMA. 

VALEEIA  took  quite  as  much  pains  to  conceal 
her  experiences  of  the  night  as  the  Countess 
Belvedere  did.  As  the  stroke  of  six  rang  from  a 
neighboring  belfry,  she  slipped,  shivering,  into  bed. 
When  coffee  was  brought  to  her,  she  gave  her  orders 
for  the  day  as  usual. 

"  Lock  the  door  well  after  you  when  you  go  out," 
she  said ;  and  was  about  to  add  that  she  would  rest  a 
little  longer,  when  the  woman  asked  her  if  she  had 
slept  well. 

"  I  have  n't  waked  once,"  she  answered,  taking 
alarm.  "  I  am  going  to  get  up  directly.  Is  the  bath 
ready  ? " 

When  the  house  door  shut,  she  rose  and  went  to 
the  window  to  make  sure  that  her  servant  had  really 
gone  out,  then  to  the  door  to  see  if  it  was  securely 
locked.  She  had  locked  her  study  door  before  ring- 
ing the  bell. 

But  sleep  refused  to  come.     There  was  that  confu- 


ROBACCIA  DI  ROMA.  257 

sion  of  utter  weariness  and  utter  sleeplessness  which 
is  a  torment.  She  had  but  two  clear  ideas  :  one,  that 
she  must  conceal  the  events  of  the  night  from  every- 
body with  as  much  secrecy  as  if  she  had  herself  been 
an  actor  in  them ;  the  other,  that  she  must  leave  the 
house  she  was  in  as  soon  as  possible. 

It  being  Saturday,  her  servant,  a  woman  sent  to 
her  by  Miss  Pendleton,  had  gone  to  the  Campo  di 
Fiori  to  buy  fruit  and  vegetables  for  the  week,  and 
she  would  be  away  two  hours ;  but  repose  in  her 
absence  was  out  of  the  question.  Every  moment 
Valeria  fancied  that  some  one  was  at  the  street  door, 
or  climbing  in  at  the  study  window.  She  was  ready 
to  imagine  anything.  She  had  a  right  to  expect  any- 
thing. But  what  she  could  never  have  imagined 
was  how  far  more  powerful  than  violence,  how  per- 
fectly able  to  dispense  with  violence,  are  malice, 
subtlety,  and  cowardice  combined.  Such  people  as 
she  had  to  deal  with  are  the  pet  children  of  Satan, 
and  he  teaches  them  his  finest  diplomacy.  They 
are  smiling ;  they  are  fond  of  the  society  of  respecta- 
ble people ;  they  are  eminently  prudent ;  they  can 
talk,  at  need,  with  such  delicacy  that  their  conscience 
might  be  a  speckless  lily,  and  their  heart  a  thornless 
rose,  both  fresh  with  the  dews  of  innocence.  Above 
all,  they  are  pious. 

Valeria  had  felt  herself  growing  cramped  with 
terror,  afraid  to  move  or  to  resolve  upon  anything. 
She  threw  the  fear  away. 

"It  is  best  to  be  silent,"  she  thought;  "but  my 
silence  shall  not  be  a  nightmare." 

Opening  her  study  door,  she  put  back  the  curtains, 
and  leaned  for  a  moment  into  the  garden,  just  as  she 
might  have  done  if  nothing  had  ever  met  her  glance 
there  but  flowers  and  fountains. 

Then,  seating  herself,  she  wrote  a  full  account  of 
all  that  she  had  known  in  the  past  few  months.     The 
17 


258  BY  THE    TIBER. 

initials  only  of  the  names  were  given ;  but  the  cir- 
cumstances rendered  them  unmistakable. 

This  paper  was  securely  sealed  and  enclosed  with 
directions  to  a  friend  in  England.  The  person  to 
whom  it  was  sent  was  to  preserve  it  carefully  sealed, 
and  in  case  Valeria  should  die  without  having  recalled 
it,  was  to  open  and  print  it.  She  knew  that  no  scru- 
ples nor  influence  on  the  part  of  the  person  to  whom 
she  confided  her  message  would  interfere  with  her 
directions  being  followed  out  to  the  letter. 

She  promised  to  send  later  certain  written  testi- 
monies to  the  truth  of  fragmentary  parts  of  her  re- 
cital. It  would  be  easy  to  persuade  the  persons 
concerned  to  write  and  sign  these  testimonies  for 
her,  as  they  would  seem  to  be  trifles ;  and  she  could 
make  some  laughing  pretence  of  mystery  which  would 
convince  them  that  there 'was  no  mystery  whatever. 
And,  insignificant  as  these  documents  would  seem  to 
be,  they  would  be  as  important  as  the  little  fragment 
that  finishes  a  broken  statue,  or  the  broken  letter 
which  completes  an  inscription,  neither  letter  nor 
fragment  having  any  sense,  except  so  applied. 

This  done,  she  dressed  herself  and  went  out  to  mail 
her  letter,  without  waiting  for  her  servant. 

There  was  a  head  peeping  out  around  the  corner  of 
her  house  as  she  came  down  the  street  from  the  direc- 
tion opposite  the  door ;  and  when  she  turned  to  the 
stair,  she  saw  a  man  standing  at  the  head  of  it,  the 
door  being  shut. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  called  brigands,  to  distin- 
guish their  dress ;  perhaps,  also,  to  distinguish  their 
characters.  He  wore  leather  leggings,  a  peaked  hat, 
and  a  faded  red  vest.  His  face  was  thin  and  dark, 
and  might  have  been  called  beautiful  but  for  its  ex- 
pression of  sombre  cruelty.  His  black  hair  fell  on 
his  shoulders ;  the  large  black  eyes,  which  devoured 
his  face,  were  wide  open,  and  fixed  upon  Valeria 


ROBACCIA   DI  ROMA,  259 

in  an  unwinking  stare.  Not  a  feature  of  his  face 
moved. 

"  What  do  you  want  there  ? "  she  called  out,  stand- 
ing in  the  street  and  looking  up  at  him. 

He  neither  stirred  nor  answered. 

"  Come  down !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  my  house,  and  I 
wish  to  go  in.  Come  down  ! " 

He  slowly  descended  the  stairs  without  removing 
his  eyes  from  her  face,  coming  step  by  step,  as  though 
he  counted  in  advancing.  There  was  something  chill- 
ing in  his  impassibility,  and  in  those  large  black 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  be  all  black. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  looking  steadily 
at  him,  as  she  would  have  looked  at  a  wild  beast, 
whom  she  could  not  fly  from. 

He  growled  out  some  inarticulate  reply,  and  passed 
her  by,  turning  his  eyes  sideways  as  he  passed.  He 
wore  a  handkerchief  wrapped  loosely  around  his  left 
hand. 

It  was  hard  not  to  turn,  not  to  run  up  the  stairs, 
not  to  betray  any  sign  of  fear ;  but  she  succeeded  in 
commanding  her  muscles  till  they  touched  the  bell. 
Then  she  rang  a  peal  that  brought  her  woman  in- 
stantly to  the  door. 

"Come  out  here  quickly  and  look  at  that  man  going 
up  Via  Claudia,"  she  said.  "  He  was  standing  at  the 
door  when  I  reached  the  house.  Have  you  seen  him  ? 
Had  he  rung  ? " 

"  No,  Signora.  No  one  has  rung.  And  I  would  n't 
have  opened  the  door  to  one  like  that." 

"See  that  you  do  not!  Never  open  the  door  to 
any  person  whom  you  do  not  know." 

"  What  do  you  think  he  was  here  for?"  the  woman 
asked. 

"  Chi  lo  sa  !  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  sell  goat's  milk. 
I  recollect  to  have  seen  two  or  three  fcicb.  men  as  that 
with  a  flock  of  goats  in  front  of  a  large  solitary  house 
outside  the  gate  of  St.  John  Laterau." 


260  BY  THE   TIBER. 

It  was  scarcely  possible  to  write  that  day ;  and 
Valeria  went  down  to  see  Miss  Cromo  in  the  after- 
noon, and  found  her  very  gay  and  amusing. 

"  And  by  the  way,"  she  said  at  length,  "  how  do 
your  mysterious  friends  get  along  ? " 

"  My  mysterious  friends  ?    What  can  you  mean  ? " 

"  Why,  those  very  improper  people  you  told  me  of 
some  time  ago,"  Miss  Cromo  replied.  "  Those  people 
whose  names  you  would  n't  tell." 

"  And  whose  names  you  tried  so  hard  to  find  out," 
added  Valeria. 

Miss  Cromo  ceased  to  smile.  "  Well,  how  are  they 
getting  along  ?" 

"  You  ought  to  know  better  than  I,"  was  the  reply. 
"You  proposed  to  put  some  one  on  their  track.  I 
really  cannot  tell  you  any  news  of  them." 

"You  do  very  well  not  to  occupy  yourself  with 
them,"  Miss  Cromo  said  sharply.  "  It  is  n't  nice  for 
a  lady  to  know  about  such  things." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  such  things  except  what  is 
forced  upon  my  notice,"  Valeria  replied.  "  I  believe 
that  the  most  of  my  knowledge  of  such  subjects  has 
been  communicated  to  me  by  you.  No  one  ever  hears 
me  tell  such  stories.  You  know  perfectly  well  why 
I  mentioned  this  one  to  you,  solely  in  order  to  have 
your  advice  on  a  subject  which  I  saw  you  were 
familiarly  acquainted  with." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  took  a  very  cold  leave 
before  Miss  Cromo  had  provided  herself  with  a  retort. 
Returning  to  her  own  apartment,  she  found  a  visitor 
waiting  for  her.  She  was  somewhat  surprised  at  see- 
ing this  lady,  whom  she  had  met  several  times  at 
Casa  Passarina,  but  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  dozen 
words  with ;  and  still  more  surprised  at  finding  her- 
self greeted  with  the  cordiality  of  an  old  friend. 

Any  companJFwas  welcome,  however ;  and  she  was, 
on  the  whole,  rather  pleased,  knowing  nothing  against 


ROBACCIA   DI  ROMA.  261 

the  lady,  except  that  she  was  a  little  too  cordial  and 
friendly  for  such  a  very  slight  acquaintance. 

Mrs.  Morton  was  an  Englishwoman  of  middle  age, 
who  was  divorced  from  her  husband,  and  lived  °as' 
companion  with  a  French  lady,  resident  in  Rome. 
She  was  agreeable-looking  and  pleasant-mannered, 
though  a  physiognomist  would  have  called  her  bad- 
tempered.  She  was  exceedingly  useful  in  question- 
ing servants  as  to  the  affairs  of  their  employers,  and 
in  doing  mysterious  little  errands  for  certain  friends 
of  hers;  two  of  which  errands  she  had  to  do  this 
afternoon.  One  of  them  was  to  come  to  Valeria  and 
find  out  what  she  knew,  or  would  say,  about  the 
Countess  Belvedere. 

This  woman  was  very  pious.  She  had  a  rosary  on 
her  bed-post,  a  Madonna  in  a  clialct,  and  a  shell  of 
holy  water  on  the  wall.  She  went  to  Novenas,  asked 
people  to  pray  for  her,  and  went  frequently  to  con- 
fession and  Communion.  One  might  accuse  one's  self 
of  a  feeling  of  curiosity  to  hear  one  of  her  confessions, 
after  having  known  some  of  her  doings. 

When  her  errand  to  Valeria  was  done,  she  was  to 
go  to  a  certain  lodging-house  with  the  pretence  of 
looking  at  rooms  for  some  one  else,  and  while  exam- 
ining the  rooms,  was  to  ask  the  mistress  of  the  house 
a  good  many  questions  about  a  lady  boarding  there. 
Nothing  was  to  be  said  against  her;  but  the  questions 
were  such  as  could  not  fail  to  suggest  suspicions  of 
the  person  mentioned. 

That  was  all. 

Satan  caricatures  God  in  all  his  works ;  and  as  in 
the  Church  there  is  a  communion  of  saints,  which  is 
defined  as  a  communion  of  all  holy  persons  in  all 
holy  things,  so  in  the  church  of  Satan  there  is  a  com- 
munion of  all  evil  persons  in  all  evil  things ;  and 
this  communion  is  a  sort  of  Freeinadttty.  The  uiem- 
t>ers  understand  and  aid  each  other. 


262  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"Only  tell  me  a  person's  name,  and  I  will  find 
out  everything  about  her,"  this  woman  had  said; 
and  she  said  it  with  an  air  of  pride.  She  had  lost 
the  instinct  of  honor. 

When  her  second  errand  should  be  done,  Mrs. 
Morton  would  be  just  in  time  to  go  to  Sant'  Andrea 
delle  Fratte  to  the  Novena  which  had  begun  for  the 
Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  where,  with  every 
appearance  of  devotion,  she  would  repeat  her  saluta- 
tion to  the  Mother  of  the  Love  of  God  incarnate  with 
the  same  lips  that  had  a  moment  before  insinuated  a 
calumny,  inspired  by  the  father  of  lies. 

Mrs.  Morton  began  to  compliment  Valeria.  She 
was  full  of  smiles  and  friendly  inquiries ;  she  ad- 
mired her  apartment,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  see 
the  whole  of  it. 

Valeria  began  to  stiffen.  "  This  woman  is  a  little 
too  sweet,  and  too  much  at  her  ease,"  she  thought. 
And  she  ignored  her  request. 

"  You  must  have  a  view  into  the  Mitella  gardens," 
Mrs.  Morton  said  presently,  in  no  wise  abashed  at  the 
tacit  refusal.  "Your  house  is  partly  inside  the  wall, 
is  if  not?" 

"  Yes ;'  there  is  one  window  on  the  garden." 

"  How  charming !  I  have  always  wanted  a  house 
with  a  garden  adjoining.  Even  if  it  is  n't  one's 
own,  that  scarcely  makes  a  difference.  To  be  able 
to  look  at  flowers  and  fountains,  is  about  the  same 
as  to  own  them.  I  suppose  you  spend  a  great  deal  of 
time  at  that  window.  Do  you  ever  see  the  Countess  ? " 

"Very  seldom.  Naturally,  when  I  see  people  in 
the  garden,  I  draw  back.  And,  indeed,  though  I  sit 
near  the  window  with  my  writing,  I  do  not  look  out 
much,  except  when  it  is  too  dark  to  write,  or  when  I 
want  to  rest  m^eyes  for  a  moment.  It  rests  one's 
eyes  to  look  w  green.  The  ancient  stone-cutters 
looked  at  an  emerald  when  their  eyes  were  tired ;  I 
look  at  a  tree." 


ROBACCIA   DI  ROMA.  263 

"  Does  the  Countess  please  you  ?"  asked  the  visitor. 

"  I  do  not  know  her." 

"  I  mean,  do  her  looks  please  you  ?     Do  you  think  ^ 
her  handsome  ? " 

"  She  would  be  called  a  handsome  woman.  I  saw 
her  once  or  twice  in  Casa  Passarina." 

"  How  I  should  like  to  look  into  the  garden  I 
Would  you  allow  me  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  the  Casino  ? "  Valeria  said. 
"  They  would  probably  let  you  go  into  the  gardens. 
I  presume  that  the  family  are  away." 

Anger  flickered  in  the  visitor's  pale  blue  eyes, 
and  distorted  her  smile ;  but  she  strove  not  to  lose 
her  sweetness. 

"  It  did  n't  occur  to  me  that  the  request  was  an 
improper  one,  I  am  so  very  open  about  everything," 
she  said.  "  I  never  minded  having  ladies  go  to  any 
part  of  my  house  when  I  had  one.  I  never  conceal 
anything." 

"Then  perhaps,"  Valeria  said  smilingly,  "since 
you  are  so  frank,  you  will  tell  me  what  it  is  you 
wish  to  find  out  about  the  Countess  Belvedere  and  her 
garden.  I  own  that  I  fail  to  see  why  either  should 
interest  you." 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  !  What  should  I  wish  to 
find  out  ?  What  should  make  you  so  suspicious  ? " 

The  visitor  floundered  in  protestations,  half  angry, 
half  apologetic,  and,  not  being  interrupted,  rose  to  go. 

"  So  happy  to  have  seen  you  ! "  said  Valeria,  ring- 
ing the  bell. 

She  rang  it  again  when  her  visitor  had  gone  out 
with  a  bitter-sweet  smile  upon  her  face,  and  gave 
orders  that  Mrs.  Morton  was  never,  on  any  account, 
to  be  admitted  again. 

"  There 's  another  enemy  for  me  !"  she  sighed,  when 
she  was  alone.  "I  shall  have  all  the  canaylia  of 
lioine  upon  my  shoulders." 


264  BY  THE   TIBER. 

I 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE    CLICK    OF   A   LOCK. 

IT  was  September,  and  Valeria  was  feeling  very 
unwell,  without  once  suspecting  what  was  the 
matter  with  her.  Fever  comes  so  insidiously  some- 
times as  not  to  be  perceived.  The  weather  was  very 
hot,  the  summer  had  been  an  extraordinary  strain  of 
heat  from  the  beginning  of  May,  with  scarcely  a 
shower,  or  a  merciful  tramontana  to  temper  the 
scorching  rays  of  the  sun.  One  can  stay  very  well 
in  Rome  through  July ;  but  after  that  the  system 
becomes  prostrated. 

She  could  eat  nothing  but  fruit.  Now  and  then 
her  servant  persuaded  her  to  taste  of  something  else  ; 
but  she  turned  from  it  in  disgust.  She  struggled  to 
write,  and  the  pen  dropped  from  her  hand.  Her 
trembling  fingers  could  scarcely  form  the  letters. 

And  so  September  passed. 

Bruno  was  back  in  the  garden  of  Villa  Mitella, 
swaggering  and  laughing  as  usual.  He  knew  that 
Marco  lay  dangerously  ill  of  fever,  and  he  felt  safe 
for  the  present. 

Valeria  always  protested  to  herself  that  she  did  not 
know  where  Vittorio  was,  and  that  he  must  have 
found  employment  elsewhere.  She  refused  to  look 
at  the  thought  that  she  had  refused  to  utter.  She 
scarcely  ever  went  out  now,  and  never  alone.  When 
she  did  go  out,  there  was  always  some  of  that  com- 
pany near  her ;  but  their  manner  was  changed.  Their 
air  was  serious  and  threatening,  but  they  never  in- 
truded too  much. 

The  cool  evenings  came,  and  the  sun,  from  being  an 


THE  CLICK  OF  A  LOCK.  265 

enemy,  became  a  friend.  It  was  pleasant,  at  early 
morning  or  toward  evening,  to  stand  in.  the  yellow 
light  of  it  at  that  season.  But  Valeria  was  no  better. 
And  now  she  could  not  sit  up  all  day,  and  she  tired  of 
the  few  visitors  who  began  to  come. 

Sometimes  she  thought  of  sending  for  Dr.  Kraus. 
She  felt  nervous  and  irritable ;  the  fever  was  slowly 
consuming  her,  and  her  strength  slowly  diminishing, 
and  she  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter. 

One  day,  just  before  sunset,  a  visitor  came  in,  — a 
very  good  person,  who  did  not  interest,  and  always 
vexed  her  a  little.  He  was  one  of  those  persons  who 
is  always  going,  and  never  goes.  When  his  visit  was 
over,  it  still  took  him  a  great  while  to  get  out  of  his 
•chair.  He  made  little  feints,  half  rising,  smoothing 
his  hat,  and  always  settling  again  at  a  word.  Then, 
once  on  his  feet,  he  would  stand,  wait,  turn  half  away, 
act  as  if  he  wished  to  say  something  and  was  trying 
to  recollect  what,  till  one  longed  to  give  him  a  push 
out  of  the  room. 

With  all  that,  he  was  a  good  man  in  a  negative 
way,  and  one  liked  him  for  the  first  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  of  his  visit,  and  wished  to  be  very  civil 

There  had  been  some  rain  early  in  the  day,  and  it 
had  cleared  in  the  afternoon,  and  now,  at  sunset,  a 
sharp  tramontana  was  growing,  and  becoming,  from 
cool  intermittent  puffs,  a  steady  cold  wind.  The 
west  window  of  the  reception-room  was  open,  and  the 
wind  came  in  and  blew  across  Valeria's  shoulders. 
But  her  visitor  was  now  standing,  and  had  turned  and 
twisted  to  such  an  extent  that  it  seemed  impossible 
that  he  would  not  presently  edge  toward  the  door. 
If  she  should  rise  prematurely,  it  might  be  all  to 
begin  over  again.  If  she  should  close  the  window 
and  ring  for  a  shawl,  he  might  sit  down.  She  meant 
to  wait  till  he  should  get  two  or  three  steps  toward  the 
door,  then  rise  briskly  with  an  "  Oh,  you  are  going  ? " 


266  BY  THE   TIBER. 

give  him  her  fingers,  ring  the  bell,  and  whisk  him 
away  before  he  knew.  Then  turning  to  close  the 
window,  she  could  affect  not  to  see  him  hanging  about 
the  door. 

And  meantime  the  cold  wind  was  pressing  like  a 
block  of  ice  on  her  shoulders,  and  a  chill  was  creep- 
ing over  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  penetrating  to  her 
heart. 

At  last  the  gradually  attenuated  leave-taking  came 
to  a  point  where  she  could  sever  it,  and  she  was  free, 
—  free  and  deadly  cold. 

She  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her  and  lay  down  on 
the  sofa.  She  felt  a  little  dull  and  confused,  and  took 
no  other  means  to  counteract  the  harm  that  she  had 
received.  Later,  Dr.  Kraus  came.  She  hardly  knew 
what  she  said  to  him  or  when  he  went. 

After  a  while  she  seemed  to  dream.  Her  room 
was  dim,  and  a  black  curtain  hung  round  its  walls, 
and  behind  this  curtain  she  heard  a  step.  Some  one 
was  running  round  between  the  curtain  and  the  wall, 
as  if  seeking  an  exit  into  the  chamber  and  finding 
none.  The  step  betrayed  agitation,  and  there  was  a 
breathless  agitation  in  the  voice  that  spoke  to  her. 

It  was  the  voice  of  her  mother,  dead  for  many  years. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Valeria !  Your  father  will  be 
near  you,"  it  said. 

And  still  running,  and  seeking  to  pass  the  veil  that 
separated  them,  and  repeating  over  and  over  the  same 
words,  she  heard  the  step  and  the  voice. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Valeria!  Your  father  will  be 
near  you." 

Then  all  went  out  in  darkness. 

She  was  delirious. 


Like  a  candle  that  is  lighted  for  a  moment,  her 
consciousness  came  back.     She  was  lying  helpless, 


THE  CLICK  OF  A  LOCK.  267 

and  there  seemed  to  be  a  mountain  on  her  breast. 
She  struggled  to  breathe,  and  could  not.  Dr.  Kraus 
stood  at  a  table  preparing  some  medicine,  half  turned 
away  from  her. 

"  You  have  taken  my  breath  away  ! "  she  gasped. 

"  No,  I  have  n't ! "  he  replied  rudely,  without  look- 
ing round. 

Then,  like  a  candle,  the  light  of  her  eyes  went  out. 

Again  it  came  back,  but  after  what  interval  she 
could  not  guess. 

Her  room  was  dim,  and  she  was  alone.  A  light 
shone  across  the  corridor  from  her  study.  Some  one 
was  there,  and  she  heard  the  rattling  of  papers  and 
whispered  words,  in  which  she  presently  recognized 
Miss  Cromo's  voice.  She  read  out  the  title  of  a  story 
that  Valeria  had  begun,  and  made  a  comment  on  it. 

They  had,  indeed,  lost  no  time.  Instead  of  locking 
her  writing-table,  and  waiting  to  see  how  her  sickness 
would  turn,  they  had  immediately  begun  to  examine 
her  papers. 

And,  again,  she  was  aware  for  a  moment,  at  another 
time,  of  Dr.  Lacelles  sitting  at  her  bedside. 

"  And  so  they  treated  you  very  badly  ? "  he  said. 

He  had  a  calm,  quiet  way  that  was  very  soothing. 
One  could  not  imagine  that  he  would  ever  show  the 
rudeness  of  Dr.  Kraus  to  an  unconscious  patient,  or 
one  he  believed  to  be  unconscious. 

"  Yes,  very  ill ! "  Valeria  replied  mechanically ;  then 
wondered  what  she  had  been  saying  to  him,  and 
who  had  treated  her  ill;  and,  wondering,  knew  no 
more. 

She  was  roused  again  by  a  sound  at  her  chamber 
door.  Miss  Cromo,  dressed  for  a  visit,  came  in,  and 
took  a  chair  at  a  little  distance  from  the  bed,  and 
facing  her. 

"  She  must  not  be  made  to  talk,"  said  the  voice  of 
some  one  out  of  sight,  probably  the  servant. 


268  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  Very  well !  I  will  look  about  a  little,  then,"  said 
the  visitor,  and  began  to  glance  about  the  room,  at  the 
furniture,  the  walls,  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  the  toilet  and  curtains  are  ! "  she 
exclaimed.  "  How  very  pretty  !  " 

Valeria  was  conscious  ;  but  she  had  waked  only  to 
the  solemn  struggle  of  life  and  death  going  on  in  her, 
and  to  a  terrible  sense  of  her  own  helplessness.  Of 
the  polite  insincerities  of  life  she  knew  nothing.  All 
that  she  could  bear  of  suffering  was  pressing  upon 
her,  and  she  felt  this  presence  and  triviality  an 
insult. 

"  If  you  came  here  only  to  make  comments  on  my 
furniture,  you  had  better  go  home,"  she  said  with 
most  uncompromising  brevity,  as  dead  to  etiquette  as 
a  ghost. 

Miss  Cromo  rose  instantly  and  left  the  room  without 
a  word. 

Little  by  little,  came  the  faint,  cold  dawn  of  return- 
ing reason.  It  was  no  more  a  momentary  glimmer- 
ing, but  a  steady,  though  slow,  increase  of  light.  All 
was  painful  and  cheerless.  She  was  faint  and  ema- 
ciated; she  needed  simple  medicines,  which  had  not 
been  given  her;  she  needed  nourishment,  and  some 
one  to  stand  between  her  and  all  disturbances ;  and 
she  had  nothing.  Never  once  had  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  found  any  one  sitting  beside  her,  ministering 
to  her,  or  saying  a  cheering  word.  If  she  waked  in 
the  night,  she  was  in  darkness,  though  her  servant 
came  when  called.  No  vision  of  charity,  nor  even  of 
humanity,  had  appeared  to  her. 

She  rose  one  morning  and  dressed  herself.  She 
staggered  in  walking,  and  her  head  reeled.  She  only 
reached  the  sofa  in  the  next  room,  and  sank  down 
there  exhausted.  The  servant  came  to  her  for  orders, 
and  she  could  hardly  give  them. 

Later  Miss  Pendleton  caine  to  see  her,  and  talked 


THE   CLICK  OF  A  LOCK.  269 

till  her  head  grew  dizzy.  She  was  kind,  and  very 
affectionate ;  but  she  talked  as  no  one  should  talk  to 
a  sick  person,  who  was  still  sick  enough  to  be  in  bed, 
and  carefully  tended. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  ill  ? "  Valeria  asked  her. 

Miss  Pendleton  thought  a  moment,  then  replied, 
"  Six  weeks." 

She  had  been  ill  three  weeks.  It  was  that  day 
three  weeks  since  the  evening  when  the  tramontanes 
struck  her. 

Miss  Pendleton  had  come  for  a  special  purpose. 
She  wished  Valeria  to  leave  her  house,  and  go  to  some 
hospital  or  institute  where  she  could  have  proper  care. 
It  was  impossible  to  have  the  care  she  needed  from  a 
servant,  the  visitor  insisted,  and  she  would  never  re- 
cover if  something  were  not  done  for  her. 

"  All  I  need  now  is  quiet  and  nourishment,"  Valeria 
said  faintly.  "  I  cannot  talk,  I  do  not  want  to  think. 
Only  let  me  rest." 

Miss  Pendleton  persisted.  It  was  a  repetition  of 
the  visit  she  had  made  in  "the  spring,  six  months  be- 
fore,—  the  same  wearing  repetitions  and  urging,  the 
same  promises  if  she  would  yield,  the  same  ignoring 
of  all  argument  and  reply. 

Valeria  took  refuge  in  silence.  Her  mind,  to  which 
some  momentary  confusions  still  clung,  like  the  rags 
of  mist  that  linger  for  a  little  about  the  landscape 
when  the  tempest  has  passed,  seemed  about  to  darken 
anew  and  desert  her  under  this  torment.  She  would 
not  answer,  and  Miss  Pendleton  left  her,  after  having 
talked  her  almost  into  a  swoon. 

The  next  day  several  people  came.  She  had  told 
the  servant  that  she  would  see  no  one,  yet  they  were 
admitted.  There  were  two  doctors  from  some  hospi- 
tal, —  an  old  man,  who  took  her  hand,  led  her  to  the 
strong,  full  light  of  the  window,  and  questioned  her, 
his  eyes  fixed  immovably  on  her  face ;  and  a  young 


270  BY  THE    TIBER. 

man,  who,  seated  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  swung  one 
leg  to  and  fro,  and  said  nothing. 

Valeria  tried  to  give  an  account  of  herself,  and  could 
not.  The  light  troubled  her,  the  man's  gaze  distressed 
her,  and  she  was  annoyed  at  the  manner  of  his  com- 
panion, which  was  astonishing  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady  in  her  own  house.  She  was  expected  to  tell  all 
the  symptoms  of  an  illness  of  which  she  knew  almost 
nothing,  and  to  describe  her  present  state,  which 
she  only  recognized  as  a  misery  of  weakness  and 
weariness. 

The  thought  passed  her  mind  that  she  would  like 
to  see  an  American  doctor,  —  a  man  who  would  be 
gentle,  soothing,  and  considerate,  and  on  whose  skill 
and  honesty  she  could  depend.  These  doctors  seemed 
to  her  very  strange  people.  Little  Dr.  Kraus  was  all 
the  doctor  she  knew,  except  Dr.  Lacelles.  She  would 
certainly  never  have  employed  Dr.  Kraus  in  a  critical 
case ;  and  she  quite  as  certainly  had  never  dreamed 
of  employing  Dr.  Lacelles  professionally,  however 
agreeable  she  might  have  found  him  as  a  gentle- 
man. 

This  doctor  who  was  questioning  her  had  thin  white 
hair  and  red  eyes,  and  he  looked  sickly.  By  contrast, 
he  recalled  the  figure  of  the  doctor  she  had  had  at  home, 
tall,  strong,  clean,  and  full  of  life  and  of  gentleness. 
She  could  have  dropped  into  his  hands  with  strength 
enough  for  only  one  word,  "  Protect  me  ! "  and  been 
sure  that  her  house  would  have  been  a  fortress  against 
all  intrusion ;  that  whatever  need  she  had  would  have 
been  found  out,  every  care  provided,  and  her  smallest 
flickering  spark  of  life  fed  till  it  reached  the  full 
flame. 

There  were  such  men  in  Rome ;  but  she  could  not 
reach  them.  She  had  been  taken  possession  of,  and 
there  was  no  help  for  her. 

The  doctors  went,  but  other  people  came. 


THE   CLICK  OF  A  LOCK.  271 

A  gentleman  and  his  wife  came,  seated  themselves 
in  two  chairs,  and  looked  at  her.  They  were  familiar 
acquaintances,  but  none  the  less  unwelcome  now. 
They  did  not  talk,  and  she  tried  to  talk  to  them, 
having  nothing  to  say. 

They  went,  and  presently  some  man  came  about  a 
repair  needed  in  the  house,  and  another  with  a  little 
household  bill,  and  she  had  to  see  them  both.  It 
would  appear  that  the  servant  took  no  orders  from 
her  mistress;  and  whatever  directions  Miss  Pendleton 
might  have  given  her,  to  keep  out  visitors  was  not 
among  them. 

Later  Burton  the  artist  came,  bringing  her  some- 
thing that  he  thought  might  tempt  her  appetite.  She 
was  glad  to  see  him,  though  she  could  neither  eat  nor 
talk.  He  was  such  a  good  fellow  when  left  to  him- 
self. She  thought  that  if  she  had  him  to  see  to  her 
and  keep  everybody  else  away,  she  would  soon  get 
well. 

The  day  passed,  and  the  night.  "  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  be  let  alone  to-day  !"  she  said  to  her  servant  the 
next  morning.  "  Don't  let  any  one  come  near  me ! 
Don't  open  the  door  to  any  one.  I  want  to  lie  still 
and  not  speak,  except  to  you,  all  day.  That  will 
make  me  feel  better." 

They  did  not  mean  that  she  should  be  any  better 
just  then.  They  had  plans  which  her  health,  if  too 
quickly  established,  would  have  interfered  with. 

Miss  Pendleton  was  shown  in,  and  there  was  a 
repetition  of  their  former  interview.  And  again  she 
went  away,  leaving  Valeria  exhausted. 

The  next  day  she  came  again,  bringing  with  her  an 
American  friend  of  Valeria's,  who  had  just  come  to 
Home,  and  was  going  immediately  away  again. 

Mrs.  Marvin  was  one  of  the  sweetest  of  women, 
and  as  gentle  as  a  dove.  She  had  but  just  entered 
the  Church,  and  had  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  convert, 


272  BY  THE    TIBER. 

not  only  for  the  Church,  but  for  Catholics.  She 
invested  her  Catholic  friends  with  all  the  beauty  of 
the  doctrines  in  which  they  professed  belief,  and  the 
virtues  which  they  professed  to  practise.  Simply  and 
transparently  honorable,  she  had  no  conception  of 
dishonor  under  the  garb  of  religion.  Theoretically 
it  might  be  possible,  but  surely  not  of  any  one  whom 
she  had  ever  seen. 

She  had  been  talked  to  and  prepared  for  this  inter- 
view, and  in  adding  her  influence  to  further  the 
object  of  it,  she  verily  believed  that  she  did  service 
to  God  and  to  her  neighbor. 

Valeria  was  urged  to  leave  her  house,  and  go  to  a 
certain  hospital  where  she  would  have  every  care. 
She  was  told  that  she  could  never  recover  where  she 
was. 

It  was  again  a  siege,  with  two  voices  instead  of  one. 

"  You  are  nervous  and  you  need  a  particular  cure, " 
Mrs.  Marvin  said,  in  her  sweet,  soothing  way. 

Valeria  thought  that  she  was  not  nervous.  She 
felt  no  excitement  whatever,  but  only  weakness  and 
lassitude ;  but  she  did  not  contradict  them. 

"  I  will  go  if  I  can  be  quiet,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  but 
I  cannot  see  to  my  apartment,  nor  to  anything.  I 
don't  want  to  think.  Cannot  you  see  that  after  such 
an  illness  one  needs  perfect  qiiiet  for  a  while  ? " 

"  Everything  shall  be  done  for  you,"  Miss  Pendleton 
said  eagerly ;  "  we  will  take  all  the  responsibility.  I 
know  a  nice  family  who  will  take  your  apartment  till 
you  want  to  come  back.  They  would  like  to  have  a 
place  for  the  rest  of  the  winter." 

"  I  think  I  may  go  to  America  in  the  spring," 
Valeria  said.  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Sister  Veron- 
ica, who  is  a  nun  in  a  Southern  convent,  and  my 
dearest  friend.  I  wrote  them  this  summer  that  I  was 
not  well.  They  invite  me  to  go  to  them  and  stay 
till  my  health  shall  be  perfectly  restored.  I  long  to 


THE   CLICK  OF  A  LOCK.  273 

be  with  them  so  that  I  would  like  to  fly  there  this 
moment.  See  '  this  is  her  letter." 

Miss  Pendleton  took  the  letter,  read  the  address 
written  at  the  top,  and  gave  it  back. 

"  All  shall  be  done  for  you,"  she  said.  "  If  you  wish 
to  go  to  them  in  the  spring,  we  may  know  some  one 
who  is  going,  so  that  you  shall  have  company.  And 
now  you  will  be  well  taken  care  of,  and  to-morrow  I 
will  take  you  to  the  place  we  have  spoken  of.  Don't 
think  of  anything ;  leave  all  to  me." 

It  was  such  a  rest  to  think  that  she  might  leave  all 
to  some  one. 

Her  visitors  both  kissed  her  affectionately. 

"  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  ! "  Valeria  said  to  Mrs. 
Marvin. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing  !  Christians  must  do  for  each 
other,  must  they  not  ? "  was  the  gentle  reply. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  room  Valeria  thought 
to  ask,  "  Where  is  the  place  to  which  you  will  take 
ine?" 

"  In  the  Lungara,"  Miss  Pendleton  said,  and  they 
went. 

In  the  Lungara !  And  she  was  to  go  there  because 
she  was  nervous!  In  the  Lungara  was  the  great 
lunatic  asylum  of  Rome,  and  they  must  have  meant 
that.  She  had  passed  by  its  great  iron  gate  more 
than  once. 

Valeria  started  up  and  began  to  walk  the  floor.  She 
tried  to  think  of  some  one  to  whom  she  could  appeal. 
She  remembered  the  American  Consul,  and  put  her 
hand  on  the  bell-knob  to  call  her  servant  to  go  for 
him.  But  no ;  the  girl  would  go  to  Miss  Pendleton 
instead.  And  even  if  he  should  come,  could  she  talk 
to  him  in  a  way  to  convince  him  that  she  should  not 
go  there  ?  This  fear  and  distress,  added  to  her  weak- 
ness, would  confuse  her,  would  agitate  her. 

She  seated  herself,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Supe- 
18 


274  BY  THE    TIBER. 

rior  of  the  convent  where  Miss  Pendleton  lived.  Her 
letter  was  blotted,  her  hand  trembled  so  that  she 
could  hardly  form  the  letters ;  but  the  meaning  was 
plain. 

She  begged  Madame  de  la  Koche  to  let  her  come  to 
them  for  a  little  while.  "All  I  want  is  rest  and 
quiet,"  she  wrote.  "  I  do  want  care,  but  not  the  care 
of  a  lunatic  asylum."  Her  letter  was  imploring,  and 
showed  that  she  was  terrified.  When  it  was  ended, 
and  she  had  sent  the  servant  with  it,  she  sank  faint- 
ing on  the  floor. 

"  They  could  easily  drive  me  crazy  or  kill  me  in  a 
short  time,"  she  thought,  when  she  recovered. 

The  note  was  left,  but  no  reply  was  sent  then. 

The  next  day  Miss  Pendleton  and  Mrs.  Marvin 
came  again. 

They  expressed  warmly  their  regret  for  having  dis- 
turbed her  so  much  when  they  meant  to  do  her  good. 
She  was  soothed  and  reassured  and  coaxed.  Madame 
de  la  Roche  was  very  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  take  her. 
Then  Mrs.  Marvin  said  that  she  had  that  day  seen 
another  place  which  she  thought  would  suit  Valeria. 
Did  she  know  anything  about  Villa  Barberini  ? 

No,  she  had  never  heard  of  it.  But  the  word  villa 
was  pleasant.  It  promised  a  garden. 

Mrs.  Marvin  then  described  the  place.  It  had  large 
grounds  and  gardens,  extending  over  a  hill  near  St. 
Peter's.  The  house  was  tine,  and  Valeria's  room  would 
be  the  best  in  it.  There  were  a  few  ladies  there, 
who  were  not  quite  well,  and  wished  to  live  quiet  for 
a  while.  She  need  not  have  anything  to  do  with 
them  unless  she  wished  to.  Her  meals  would  be 
served  to  her  privately,  and  she  would  have  the  at- 
tendance of  a  servant  who  would  be  the  same  as  a 
maid,  and  every  care  necessary  from  a  doctor  and 
nurse.  The  view  from  her  window  was  lovely.  Over 
a  near  hill  quite  in  the  garden  looked  the  dome  of 


THE   CLICK  OF  A   LOCK.  275 

St.  Peter's,  not  more  than  twenty  rods  distant ;  from 
the  other  window  she  would  see  a  procession  of  great 
pines  climbing  the  hill  to  a  second  villa. 

It  was  an  enchanting  picture. 

"  I  will  go  to-day  if  I  may,"  Valeria  said.  "  I  am 
impatient  to  be  quiet  and  silent." 

It  was  arranged  that  she  should  go  the  next  day. 
Miss  Pendleton  would  come  for  her  at  two  o'clock, 
would  take  the  keys  of  her  house,  and  dismiss  her 
servant,  and  Valeria  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  let  her- 
self be  taken  care  of. 

The  rest  of  the  day  and  the  night  seemed  too  long 
in  passing.  But  at  last  the  longed-for  day  came. 

It  was  the  18th  of  November.  Looking  over  her 
papers  to  put  some  of  them  into  her  trunk,  Valeria 
saw  by  her  diary  that  she  must  have  been  taken  sick 
on  the  evening  of  the  27th  of  October,  making  thus 
twenty-two  days  from  the  first,  without  counting  the 
weeks  that  she  had  suffered  from  fever  without  being 
aware  of  it. 

After  her  trunk  was  prepared,  she  wrote  a  letter  to 
those  having  the  care  of  her  affairs  in  America.  Men- 
tioning her  illness,  she  said  that  Miss  Pendleton  would 
take  charge  of  her  affairs,  and  was  to  be  trusted  like 
herself. 

The  letter  written,  after  resting  awhile,  she  sat 
down  by  the  window  looking  westward  up  Via  Nera 
to  wait. 

It  was  a  wild  day,  the  sky  full  of  sunshine  and 
black  clouds.  Now  a  dash  of  angry  rain  came  flying 
through  the  air  and  splashed  itself,  as  sharp  as  hail, 
against  the  window-panes ;  then  suddenly  a  rush  of 
sunbeams  broke  through  the  clouds  and  turned  the 
drops  to  gold. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Valeria  had  looked  up  to 
observe  nature  since  the  tramontana  struck  her  three 
weeks  before. 


276  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Miss  Pendleton  was  long  in  coming.  She  had  prom- 
ised to  come  at  two  o'clock,  and  she  did  not  come 
till  four.  When  she  came,  the  storm  had  subsided 
into  a  mournful  calm.  A  watery  sunshine  shone 
through  the  windless  sky,  and  now  and  then  a  few 
rain-drops  fell. 

"  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  n't  come,"  Valeria 
said,  "  and  I  could  n't  have  stayed  here  another  night, 
I  am  so  impatient." 

Miss  Pendleton  was  serious  and  preoccupied,  and 
had  but  little  to  say,  except  to  excuse  her  delay.  The 
few  necessary  preparations  were  made,  the  trunk  was 
left  to  be  sent  for,  and  they  went  down  to  a  cab  that 
was  waiting  at  the  door,  Valeria  supporting  herself 
partly  on  the  banister,  partly  on  Miss  Pendleton's 
arm. 

They  drove  through  street  after  street  in  silence. 
Too  weak  to  talk  much  in  the  house,  Valeria  was  far 
too  weak  to  make  herself  heard  above  the  noises  of 
the  street ;  and  her  companion  did  not  seem  disposed 
to  say  anything.  There  were  some  familiar  streets 
and  others  strange,  and  they  seemed  to  go  back  and 
forth. 

At  length,  when  they  had  had  time  to  go  from  end 
to  end  of  the  city,  Valeria  said,  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
we  are  going  in  a  very  round-about  way." 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Pendleton  replied  impatiently,  "  the 
driver  is  taking  the  longest  road  he  can,  so  as  to 
make  it  cost  more.  They  always  do  that." 

At  length  the  houses  ceased  abruptly.  They  drove 
up  a  rise  between  high  walls,  made  a  turn  or  two, 
and  stopped  at  a  high  iron  gate  that  barred  their  way. 
The  gate  was  shut,  but  the  porter  appeared  inside. 

And  here  a  difficulty  occurred.  The  porter  would 
not  admit  them,  not  having  received  any  orders  to  do 
so,  and  the  vetturino  refused  to  stay  any  longer  without 
extra  pay,  which  Miss  Pendleton  refused  to  give  him. 


THE  CLICK  Of  A  LOCK.  277 

There  was  a  moment  of  perplexity;  then  the  vettu- 
rino  was  dismissed,  and  Miss  Pendleton  begged  Vale- 
ria to  wait  where  she  was  while  she  should  run  to  a 
house  lower  down  for  an  order. 

The  cab  disappeared,  Miss  Pendleton  disappeared, 
and  Valeria  was  left  alone  outside  the  gate  with  the 
porter  looking  out  through  the  bars.  The  rain  began 
to  fall  gently,  the  earth  was  wet,  the  air  cold.  It  was 
past  the  middle  of  November,  and  she  had  been  in 
bed  only  three  or  four  days  before  with  fever  and  con- 
gestion of  the  lungs ;  and  she  could  scarcely  stand. 
Apparently,  her  health  had  been,  from  first  to  last, 
but  very  little  thought  of. 

At  one  side  of  the  road  there  was  a  long  chapel 
with  closed  blinds,  and  grass-grown  stone  steps  lead- 
ing up  to  it.  Valeria  seated  herself  on  these  steps, 
and  waited.  She  began  to  grow  afraid,  not  knowing 
where  she  was.  She  would  surely  be  ill  again  if  she 
stayed  there  much  longer.  And  she  could  not  sit  up 
either.  She  had  already  exerted  herself  too  much 
that  day ;  and  she  could  scarcely  keep  herself  from 
lying  down  on  the  cold  wet  stones. 

It  was  about  fifteen  minutes  before  Miss  Pendle- 
ton appeared,  accompanied  by  a  young  nun  in  a  black 
dress,  and  wearing  a  black  veil  over  a  white  one. 
She  was  a  sister  of  San  Carlo,  an  order  founded  by 
San  Carlo  Borromeo  to  take  care  of  the  sick. 

The  two  were  running.  They  made  some  hasty 
excuses,  the  gate  opened,  and  they  entered.  It  was 
a  beautiful  gate,  and  the  road  it  opened  into  ran  be- 
tween a  wall  and  a  high  slope,  and  was  bordered  with 
trees  and  shrubs,  and  there  were  flowers  even  now, 
and  the  banks  were  a  bright  emerald.  Vines  hung 
over  the  gate,  and  wreathed  a  little  bridge  that  crossed 
over  it. 

They  did  not  follow  the  road.  The  nun  took  them 
up  a  steep  path  leading  to  the  bridge,  where  they 


278  BY  THE   TIBER. 

entered  the  continuation  of  a  branch  of  the  avenue 
from  the  gate.  The  rain  was  falling,  and  the  way 
seemed  long ;  but  the  sister  held  Valeria  by  the  arm, 
and  helped  her  along. 

At  length  they  reached  a  house,  and,  passing  under 
palm-branches  that  overshadowed  the  steps,  entered  a 
small  garden  enclosed  in  an  angle  of  the  casino.  At 
the  door  another  sister  met  them,  took  charge  of 
Valeria,  led  her  up-stairs,  and  helped  her  to  bed. 

Miss  Pendleton  took  leave  at  once,  promising  to 
come  again  soon. 

Supper  was  brought,  and  she  ate  a  little,  sitting  up 
in  bed,  and  served  by  the  nun  who  had  met  her  at 
the  door.  Then  she  leaned  forward,  and  looked  out 
through  the  window.  Opposite  was  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo,  with  the  Tiber  coining  boldly  forward  a  short 
distance,  then  turning  aside  out  of  sight.  Beyond  the 
castle  were  fields,  and  beyond  the  fields  a  long  range 
of  mountains,  faintly  rosy  now  opposite  the  rainy 
sunset. 

They  had  not  deceived  her  in  saying  that  the  place 
was  beautiful. 

"  This  is  not  your  room,"  the  sister  said.  "  Yours 
is  larger.  It  will  be  ready  for  you  to-morrow." 

Later,  the  sister  came  softly  in  again,  and  began 
setting  the  room  in  order  for  the  night.  She  closed 
the  shutters,  placed  a  little  flask  of  violet-water  on  a 
stand  beside  the  bed,  and  smoothed  the  pillows  and 
cover. 

Valeria  did  not  speak,  nor  open  her  eyes,  but  she 
smiled.  This  was  something  like  care,  like  charity. 

Those  quiet  motions  were  lulling,  and  when  the 
sister  went  out,  Valeria  scarcely  knew.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  heard  the  click  of  a  lock  when  the  door 
closed.  But  she  forgot  it  immediately,  and  soon  fell 
asleep. 


LA   CARITA  ROMANA.  279 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

LA   CARITA   EOMANA. 

nearly  forty-eight  hours  Valeria  lay  and 
suffered  herself  to  be  taken  care  of  without  a 
thought.  The  sister  and  the  doctor  had  discovered 
immediately  the  mistakes  or  the  neglect  in  her  treat- 
ment, and  had  remedied  them.  It  was  the  ideal  of 
care  for  a  convalescent. 

There  were  long  hours  of  quiet  loneliness,  but  never 
any  neglect. 

Now  and  then  she  raised  herself  in  bed,  and  lean- 
ing forward  looked  out  at  the  castle,  the  river,  the 
stretching  fields,  and  the  far-off  mountains.  Once 
she  rose  and  went  to  the  window  to  see  what  was 
beneath.  There  was  a  narrow  court,  and  beyond, 
nothing  but  a  steep-dropping  succession  of  roofs, 
looking  like  a  shell-strewn  beach  with  the  multi- 
tudinous tiny  curves  of  their  mossy-lichened  tiles. 

A  black  old  stone-wall  was  visible  at  the  left,  with 
weeds  and  flowers  set  in  the  interstices. 

The  house  was,  evidently,  on  the  brink  of  a  steep 
hillside.  There  were  but  two  stories  in  front,  and 
here  there  appeared  to  be  four.  At  the  left  of  the 
view  was  the  Vatican. 

The  window  was  crossed  by  heavy  bars  of  wood, 
so  that  she  could  not  put  her  head  out ;  but  that  did 
not  surprise  her  ;  one  sees  bolts  and  barred  windows 
everywhere  in  Italy,  and  though  they  are  usually 
seen  only  on  the  ground-floor,  it  was  not  strange  to 
a  stranger  to  see  them  on  the  fourth,  especially  in  a 
house  inhabited  by  nuns. 

The  attendants  were  as  pleasing  as  the  place.  A 
pretty  young  nurse  came  and  went,  ready  to  do  any- 


280  BY  THE   TIBER, 

thing,  and  never  doing  too  much,  and  Sister  Agnes 
came  every  few  hours  to  visit  her. 

Sister  Agnes  had  that  charm  which  only  a  nun  can 
possess.  Closed  in  a  convent  in  her  early  youth,  she 
had  preserved  the  simplicity  of  a  child,  while  acquir- 
ing the  strength  of  character  and  experience  in  her 
duties  of  a  woman.  She  was  rather  small,  and  her 
face  had  a  severe  and  melancholy  cast ;  but  her  smile 
transfigured  it  with  a  sudden  childlike  sweetness,  and 
her  manner,  ordinarily  calm  and  even  'taciturn,  had 
in  conversation  a  charming  vivacity.  She  had  the 
instinct  of  a  nurse,  the  gentle  authority,  the  soft 
touch,  the  ready,  supporting  arms,  the  quick  eyes,  the 
order  and  neatness.  She  divined  what  was  wanting 
without  waiting  to  be  asked. 

On  the  second  morning  Sister  Agnes  came  to  con- 
duct Valeria  to  her  room,  which  had  now  been  pre- 
pared for  her.  It  was  on  the  same  floor,  but  looked 
out  over  the  villa  instead  of  the  city,  and  was  at  the 
end  of  a  long  corridor,  that  had  chambers  at  either 
side.  This  was  a  new  wing  of  the  house,  and  Valeria 
was  the  only  person  on  the  second  floor. 

Each  door  had  a  little  slide  in  it,  glass  inside,  a 
movable  iron  screen  outside ;  and  the  locks  and  han- 
dles were  on  the  outside.  The  doors  could  not  be 
fastened  from  within. 

Beside  these  peculiarities,  and  the  wooden  bars  at 
all  the  windows,  they  were  quite  like  any  other  com- 
fortable bedrooms.     There  were  carpets,  the  walls  and 
,  ceilings  were  delicately  tinted,  and  they  had  the  ordi- 
nary furniture  of  a  bed-chamber. 

Valeria's  room  was  larger  than  the  others,  and  had 
a  little  dressing-room  attached,  with  a  large  double 
doorway  without  a  door,  and  covered  by  a  curtain. 
From  this  dressing-room  a  window  looked  toward  St. 
Peter's. 

The  casino  was  built  upon  a  hillside,  not  upon  the 


LA    CARITA  ROMANA.  281 

top,  and  the  hill  had  been  dug  away  a  little  more  to 
build  this  new  wing.  Over  the  green  summit,  not 
three  minutes'  walk  from  the  house,  which  was  on 
the  northern  summit  of  the  Janiculum,  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's  looked  so  large  and  near  that  it  startled  at 
first  sight.  The  great  cupola  seemed  to  be  set  on  the 
hill-top  like  a  huge  stone-ribbed  bird-cage.  All  its 
form  was  visible ;  but  nothing  else  was  visible  except 
the  apostles  of  the  facade,  and  two  smaller  cupolas, 
which  might  have  been  birds  hopped  out  of  that 
cage,  so  small  did  they  look  in  comparison.  In  cer- 
tain lights,  the  apostles  appeared  to  be  standing  on  the 
hill-top. 

"  Oh,  there  come  the  apostles  to  make  me  a  visit ! 
They  are  welcome  ! "  said  Valeria,  without  reflecting 
that  this  speech  might  seem  strange  to  the  simple, 
literal  nun. 

The  bedroom  window  skimmed  the  backward  edge 
of  the  Janiculum,  gave  a  view  of  St.  Onofrio,  with  its 
little  campanile  and  one  bell  against  the  sky,  and  of 
the  flat-topped  cypresses  of  the  mortuary  chapel,  on 
the  steps  of  which  Valeria  had  seated  herself  two 
days  before.  Higher  up  against  the  sky  stood  the 
casino  of  Villa  Gabrielli,  with  a  noble  procession  of 
umbrella  pines  leading  down  toward  the  hollow  to 
the  villa  gate. 

The  grounds  of  these  two  adjoining  villas  were 
connected  in  a  manner  to  puzzle  one.  The  only  way 
of  passing  from  one  to  the  other  was  over  a  narrow 
bridge.  Under  this  bridge  was  the  gate ;  and  the  ave- 
nue made  the  figure  8,  both  bridge  and  gate  being  at 
the  intersection  of  the  lines. 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  out  and  take  a  walk? "  the 
sister  said,  smiling  at  Valeria's  contentment  with 
her  apartment.  "  It  would  do  you  good  to  take  the 

Certainly  she  would  like  to.    Already,  in  but  little 


282  BY  THE   TIBER. 

more  than  twenty-four  hours,  her  life  was  beginning 
to  come  back.  It  needed  so  little  help. 

The  sister  went  away,  promising  to  come  for  her  in 
the  afternoon,  and  Valeria  sank  into  an  arm-chair  by 
the  window,  and  looked  out  at  the  pines.  They  were 
melancholy,  but  they  were  peaceful. 

"  Thank  God  for  a  garden  that  I  am  not  afraid  to 
look  into,"  she  thought,  and  then  shudderingly  put 
the  thought  far  away.  She  must  forget  all  that  now. 

There  was  an  open  gate  beneath  the  window,  and 
the  avenue  passed  through,  and  was  lost  in  a  smooth 
curve  on  the  hill,  only  a  double  line  of  tree-tops  show- 
ing its  farther  course. 

Close  to  the  gate,  and  directly  opposite  the  casino, 
was  a  building  with  Tessenda  painted  in  large  letters 
on  the  front.  From  the  open  windows  and  doors  of 
this  building  came  the  humming  sound  of  many  hand- 
looms,  and  now  and  then  a  woman,  who  might  be  a 
weaver,  appeared  for  a  moment,  then  disappeared  to 
resume  her  work. 

Valeria  lay  back  languidly,  and  thought  what  a 
sweet  gift  is  life,  with  all  its  burdens. 

Her  dinner  was  brought  by  the  pretty  nurse,  Fide- 
lia. This  girl  was  a  tall,  black-haired  Trasteverina, 
and,  though  serving  with  all  necessary  readiness  and 
humility,  had  an  air  of  natural  stateliness. 

Valeria  found  that  she  could  eat  something. 

"  I  really  believe  that  I  have  gained  wonderfully 
already,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly  !  And  you  will  soon  be  well,  signora," 
the  girl  replied  brightly. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  the  sister  came. 

They  went  down-stairs  to  an  anteroom  where  two 
or  three  ladies  were  sitting  with  a  nurse  ;  and  here 
Sister  Agnes  begged  Valeria  to  wait  for  her  in  the 
sala  adjoining,  as  something  required  her  attention 
before  she  could  go  out. 


LA  CARITA  ROMANA.  283 

• 

The  sala  was  a  pretty  room  with  frescoed  walls  and 
ceiling.  Overhead,  a  few  delicately  tinted  clouds 
sailed  across  a  blue  sky,  and  birds  flew  in  and  out. 
The  walls  represented  a  half-open  veranda,  with  land- 
scapes showing  between  the  pillars,  and  vines  and 
trees  that  pushed  in  here  and  there  a  branch,  and  a 
balustrade  with  vases  and  birds  standing  on  it.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  graceful  than  this  decoration. 

There  was  but  one  person  in  the  room,  a  young 
woman  of  about  thirty  years  of  age.  Valeria  bent 
her  head;  but  the  lady,  without  responding,  sat 
slightly  turned  toward  her,  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
mild  and  sorrowful  attention.  She  was  very  thin, 
but  tall  and  elegantly  formed,  and  her  face  was  spir- 
ited and  beautiful  in  outline.  The  nostrils  were  thin 
and  sensitive,  the  upper  lip  short  and  curling,  the 
eyes  blue.  The  curly  hair  was  drawn  back  into  a 
cluster  of  thick  puffs,  and  a  blue  bow  of  ribbon  at  one 
side  brought  out  its  rich  chestnut  shade.  A  black 
velvet  dress  contrasted  with  the  exquisite  fairness  of 
her  skin.  Her  face,  from  its  shape,  did  not  seem 
thin,  and  her  cheeks  were  softly  rose-tinted.  One 
would  have  said  that  both  head  and  face  indicated  an 
uncommon  intelligence. 

As  Valeria  was  beginning  to  wonder  at  her  contin- 
ued gaze,  the  young  woman  suddenly  clapped  her 
hands  together,  started  up,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  from  end  to  end.  She  carried  a  white  handker- 
chief by  the  corner,  and  swung  it  about.  She  looked 
upward  with  her  fine  eyes,  and  gesticulated  gracefully 
with  hands  and  arms.  Then  she  began  to  sing,  or  to 
declaim,  in  rapid  words  hard  to  follow.  She  seemed, 
wiuh  her  mellow  voice,  to  pour  out  supplications,  ac- 
cusations, and  menaces,  ever  walking  rapidly  to  and 
fro,  and  swinging  her  handkerchief. 

Her  excitement  grew.  Her  short  upper  lip  curled 
with  angry  scorn,  her  brows  became  corrugated  and 


284  BY  THE   TIBER. 

black,  she  bent  her  head  forward,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
up  from  under  the  lowered  lids,  her  voice  rose  to  a 
cry. 

What  little  of  strength  Valeria  possessed  seemed  to 
condense  itself  into  a  crinkling  flash  of  lightning 
which  ran  through  her  quivering  heart.  Who  and 
what  was  this  woman  ? 

She  could  not  bear  it.  She  went  out  into  the  ante- 
room and  dropped  into  a  chair,  rather  than  seated 
herself  there. 

There  was  a  nurse  with  her  knitting-work,  and  a 
little  old  lady  walking  to  and  fro,  talking  to  herself 
in  a  whisper.  Now  and  then  she  stopped  to  exam- 
ine the  floor,  and  picked  up  a  thread  or  some  small 
object. 

"  Who  is  that  lady  in  the  sola  ?  "  Valeria  asked  of 
the  nurse. 

"  It  is  the  Donna  Claudia,"  the  girl  replied,  still 
knitting,  but  looking  attentively  at  the  questioner. 

"  But  that  is  not  answering  me,"  Valeria  said, 
finding  the  girl's  manner  but  slightly  ceremonious. 
"  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  She  is  a  daughter  of  the  Duke  L ." 

"  And  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ? " 

"  Oh,  she  is  only  a  little  put  out  about  something  ! " 
the  girl  said  carelessly.  "  Donna  Claudia,"  she  called 
out,  raising  her  voice,  "please  keep  quiet!" 

The  Donna  Claudia  paid  no  attention.  She  was 
panting  out  breathless  execrations  in  a  strange,  dis- 
tinct whisper  that  was  forced  through  her  lips  till  it 
seemed  to  be  close  to  the  ear.  Few  tragic  actresses 
have  such  grace  or  such  a  power  of  voice. 

The  nurse  went  to  quiet  her,  and  the  little  old  lady 
came  and  seated  herself  beside  Valeria,  and  began  to 
speak  to  her  in  French  in  a  low  tone,  and  with  a 
manner  of  delicate  sweetness.  After  a  moment  she 
leaned  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  both  cheeks.  Then 


LA   CARITA  ROMAKA.  285 

she  displayed  what  she  had  been  picking  up  from  the 
floor,  ends  of  thread,  and  co!6red  lint,  and  a  bit  of 
pressed  mud  that  had  dropped  from  a  shoe ;  and 
showed  with  an  air  of  pride  a  piece  of  completed 
work,  a  bit  of  lace  knotted  out  of  odds  and  ends  into 
the  shape  of  a  tiny  bag.  In  this  bag  she  had  impris- 
oned a  snail,  perfectly  closing  the  opening.  Then  she 
began  a  new  piece  of  work,  murmuring  on  her  unin- 
telligible talk  in  alternate  English,  French,  Italian, 
and  Spanish. 

Sister  Agnes  returned  with  many  excuses  for  being 
so  late. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  this  lady,  and  she  does  not  an- 
swer me,"  Valeria  said.  She  was  feeling  as  if  she 
should  faint. 

"  Oh,  the  Donna  Faustina  is  very  deaf ! "  the  sister 
replied.  "  But  she  is  so  good ! "  and  she  patted  the 
old  lady  on  the  shoulder. 

The  Donna  Faustina  made  a  courtesy  from  under 
the  hand,  and  walked  away  with  a  wonderful  unre- 
sentful  stateliness,  her  ringers  busy  with  her  tatting. 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  Valeria  asked. 

"She   is   the   daughter   of  the   Prince   of  S • 

Q » 

They  went  out.  The  little  garden,  open  to  the 
south,  but  shielded  from  all  cold  winds,  was  bright 
with  flowers.  Two  beds  of  pansies  spread  their  rich 
carpets  of  purple  and  gold  beside  the  path,  the  house 
was  draped  up  to  the  height  of  one  story  with  flower- 
ing vines  and  heliotrope,  and  a  fountain  tossed  its 
slender  jet  of  water  into  the  air.  There  had  been 
rain  in  the  morning ;  but  the  sun  was  shining,  and  it 
was  near  sunset.  They  went  down  the  steps  under 
the  palms,  and  walked  up  the  avenue. 

There  was  a  Madonna  in  a  niche  of  stones  in  the 
bank  at  the  roadside,  just  outside  the  gate  that 
Valeria  had  seen  beneath  her  window,  and  beyond  it 


286  BY  THE   TIBER. 

an  excavation  "with  ancient  walls  and  foundations,  and 
beautiful  fragments  of  sculpture,  and  alabaster  and 
precious  marbles  over  which  the  grass  had  been  grow- 
ing for  centuries. 

They  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  Valeria's 
strength  deserted  her,  and  she  begged  the  sister  to 
return  to  the  house.  A  fascinated  terror  prompted 
her  to  learn  more  of  this  house  without  delay.  She 
longed  to  find  something  to  reassure  her,  yet  did  not 
dare  to  own  to  herself  what  it  was  that  she  feared. 

"  You  had  better  rest  a  little  while  before  going  up- 
stairs," Sister  Agnes  said  to  her  when  they  reached 
the  anteroom.  "  I  will  bring  you  a  glass  of  wine." 
And  she  left  the  room. 

There  was  a  lady  whom  Valeria  had  not  seen  before, 
and  a  nurse  in  the  anteroom. 

This  lady  was  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age. 
Her  face  was  pleasing  and  intelligent.  Her  dark  hair 
was  very  thin  in  front ;  but  an  enormous  braid  was 
looped  at  the  back  of  her  head.  A  plain  gray  wool 
dress  was  fitted  somewhat  too  closely  to  her  thin 
figure,  and  she  wore  black  velvet  boots  on  her  exqui- 
sitely small  feet.  She  carried  her  head  very  high  with 
an  air  of  mingled  pride  and  affability. 

The  nurse  asked  two  or  three  questions  of  Vale- 
ria. Was  she  English  ?  Had  she  been  long  in  Eome? 

The  lady  turned  and  dropped  her  eyes  for  an  in- 
stant on  the  girl. 

"  A  lady  can  question  a  servant,"  she  said  ;  "  but  a 
servant  can  never  interrogate  a  lady."  Then,  address- 
ing Valeria,  she  said  pleasantly,  "  You  are  going  to 
stay  here  some  time  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Valeria  replied  hesitatingly.  "  I 
have  been  ill." 

"  Oh  !  "  The  lady  looked  out  for  a  moment  into 
the  garden.  "  I  meant  to  have  gone  away  to-day," 
she  said  after  a  moment ;  "  but  I  have  to  wait  for 
some  dresses.  I  shall  go  to-morrow." 


LA   CARITA   ROMANA.  287 

Valeria  felt  sorry;  for  the  gracious  manner,  clear 
voice,  and  entirely  natural  and  refined  air  of  this 
stranger  had  pleased  her.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  are 
going,"  she  said. 

The  stranger  replied  with  a  slight  bow  and  smile.     , 

"  Do  you  remain  in  Eome  ? "  Valeria  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  am  going  to  Naples,"  the  lady  said,  with 
an  air  of  smiling  pride  and  contentment.  "  A  deputa- 
tion from  there  visited  me  yesterday  to  offer  rne  the 
crown." 

Valeria  remained  silent. 

"  They  gave  me  till  this  morning  to  think  over 
their  proposal,"  the  lady  went  on  in  the  same  airy 
manner  \  "  and  I  have  concluded  to  go." 

She  ceased,  faintly  smiling  and  proud,  and  sat  look- 
ing out  into  the  garden. 

Valeria  found  voice  to  say,  "You  are  then  Nea- 
politan ? " 

"  No  ;  I  am  Roman.  I  am  the  Duchess  of  S . 

I  have  visited  Naples,  however.  I  went  there  several 
years  ago  with  the  Duke.  When  we  were  near  the 
city,  the  king  came  out  to  meet  us  with  a  troop  of 
horse  ;  and  when  we  entered,  the  people  came  about 
us  with  gifts  of  every  sort,  as  they  came  to  the  Jubilee 
of  the  Holy  Father.  One  had  a  basket  of  eggs,  an- 
other a  basket  of  oranges,  another  a  pair  of  chickens. 
They  all  brought  something." 

She  spoke  with  graceful,  laughing  ease,  and  all  the 
indulgence  of  a  sovereign  pleased  with  her  popularity, 
while  amused  by  the  simple  demonstrations  of  her 
people. 

The  sister  returned. 

"  I  told  the  doctor  what  you  wanted,  Duchess,"  she 
said  ;  "  and  he  will  send  it  up." 

The  Duchess  bent  her  head  carelessly,  without 
looking  at  the  nun. 

"  I  must  go   down  to   the   community  for  a  few 


288  BY  THE    TIBER. 

minutes,"  Sister  Agnes  said  to  Valeria.  "  If  you  want 
to  go  up-stairs  before  I  come  back,  one  of  the  girls  will 
go  with  you."  And  she  went. 

The  door  of  the  sala  opened  abruptly,  and  a  very 
large  stern-faced  woman  came  out,  and  crossed  the 
anteroom  to  Valeria,  whom  she  confronted  angrily, 
"  You  are  a  rascal !  "  she  said  violently  in  English. 

"  What  have  I  done  ? "  Valeria  asked,  shrinking. 
For  the  woman  seemed  about  to  strike  her. 

"  You  have  said  that  I  am  the  Count  de  Moray ; 
and  I  am  Louis  Philippe,  the  king!"  cried  the 
woman. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  always  maintained  that  you 
were  the  king,"  Valeria  replied. 

"  You  are  a  rascal ! "  cried  the  woman,  unappeased. 

"  Will  you  say  something  to  her  ? "  said  Valeria  to 
the  nurse.  "  I  cannot  bear  this  ! " 

"  Go  and  sit  down,  Maclama  ! "  commanded  the 
nurse.  "  She  won't  hurt  you,"  she  added  to  Valeria. 

Madama  went  and  seated  herself  in  a  chair,  and, 
losing  after  a  moment  her  look  of  anger,  began  to 
smile  and  talk  affably  in  English  to  an  imaginary 
company,  nodding  and  answering  remarks  unheard 
by  all  but  herself,  and  totally  unconscious  of  the 
people  really  present. 

A  young  woman  with  yellow  hair  came  out  from 
the  sala,  and,  walking  to  and  fro,  began  to  declaim 
violently  against  the  Italian  government,  and  to  re- 
count the  wrongs  of  the  Pope.  The  Donna  Faustina, 
who  had  been  sitting  quietly  at  her  tatting,  rose  and 
began  to  make  courtesies  to  Valeria,  and  insisted  on 
kissing  her  hand.  The  Donna  Claudia  burst  out  of 
another  room,  followed  by  Fidelia,  the  nurse,  who 
tried  in  vain  to  stop  her.  Her  eyes  were  flashing 
with  fury,  her  mouth  was  drawn  down  at  the  corners, 
and  she  growled  fiercely,  and  ran  about  with  her  head 
down,  like  a  wild  bull,  striking  at  everything  in  her 


LA    CARITA   ROMANA.  289 

way.     All  sign  of  beauty  was  obliterated  from  her 
face.     She  was  a  beast. 

Without  waiting  for  help,  Valeria  rose,  and  hastened, 
half  fainting,  to  the  stairway.  One  of  the  nurses 
followed,  and  helped  her  up  to  her  chamber,  and  left 
her  alone  in  the  growing  twilight. 

This,  then,  was  the  quiet  and  peace  which  they  had 
promised  her !-  This  was  the  house  where  ladies  who 
were  a  little  nervous  went  for  quiet !  They  called 
the  Donna  Claudia  a  little  nervous ! 

Valeria  was  too  weak  to  feel  indignant.  She  was 
simply  terrified.  She  started  at  a  slight  sound,  fan- 
cying that  one  of  those  terrible  women  had  followed 
her  up-stairs.  She  went  to  the  door  and  tried  to  fas- 
ten it,  but  there  was  no  lock  nor  latch  on  the  inside. 
She  longed  to  be  locked  in.  Then  things  began  to 
seem  strange  to  her,  and  she  doubted  if  she  had  not 
imagined  that  horrible  scene  below,  and  if  it  were 
not  she  who  was  mad.  She  was  in  precisely  the  state 
in  which  the  persons  who  had  planned,  if  not  those 
who  had  carried  out,  her  incarceration,  had  known 
that  she  would  be,  placed  in  her  weak  and  sensitive 
condition  in  such  a  company.  She  was  in  danger  of 
going  mad. 

Fortunately,  her  own  feelings  terrified  her  so  much 
as  presently  to  overcome  the  other  fear.  She  went  to 
the  window,  and  watched  the  boughs  wave  in  the 
wind,  and  the  clouds  sailing  over  the  sky. 

"  The  boughs  always  move  that  way,"  she  said,  "  and 
the  clouds  sail  before  the  wind.  There  is  nothing 
strange  in  nature.  But  if  I  were  shut  up  where  I 
could  see  only  the  walls  of  my  room,  I  should  go  mad. 
Oh,  I  must  keep  calm !  I  must  not  seem  afraid.  I 
must  wait  till  I  gain  a  little  strength  before  I  think 
of  anything.  My  room  is  pretty,  and  I  have  good 
care.  I  must  pretend  to  be  content.  If  I  show  any 
excitement  I  shall  be  ruined." 
19 


290  BY  THE    TIBER. 

They  brought  her  supper,  and  the  nurse  helped  her 
to  bed.  She  scarcely  said  anything,  except  to  ask 
what  day  of  the  month  it  was. 

"  I  have  had  nothing  to  remind  nie  of  the  day  of 
the  mouth  or  of  the  week  for  some  time,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  as  you  get  stronger,  your  memory  will  come 
back  ! "  the  nurse  said. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  anything,"  she  replied.  "  It 
is  because  the  days  in  a  sick-room  are  all  alike." 

The  girl  went,  and  this  time  the  door  was  not 
locked.  She  was  sorry  for  it ;  but  quieted  her  fears 
with  the  reflection  that  women  as  violent  as  those  she 
had  seen  were  likely  to  be  locked  in  and  watched. 
Stretching  out  her  hand  for  the  crucifix  that  hung  by 
her  bed,  she  clasped  it  close,  and  wept  in  silent  deso- 
lation. 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  this  is  what  they  call  charity ! "  she 
said. 

She  would  have  been  better  off  in  a  pagan  land. 

There  were  voices  on  the  stairs  from  which  one 
large  chamber  of  the  main  body  of  the  casino  opened, 
and  the  Donna  Faustina  was  heard  snarling  like  a 
cat.  The  nurse  tried  to  soothe  her ;  the  door  shut, 
and  there  was  silence. 

An  hour  or  two  passed,  and  then  Valeria  with 
wide-open  eyes  saw  a  light  shining  in  through  her 
door,  and  heard  a  light  step  coming  along  the  corridor. 
Her  heart  leaped,  then  grew  quiet ;  for  it  was  the 
black  veiled  head  and  white  collar  of  Sister  Agnes 
that  appeared  at  the  door . 

Valeria  closed  her  eyes,  and  lay  still  while  the  sis- 
ter with  a  gentle  hand  smoothed  the  sheet  and  cover 
of  the  bed,  and  went  softly  about  the  room. 

It  reminded  her  of  a  time  —  how  far  back  in  her 
childish  days !  —  when  her  mother  used  to  come  to 
her  so  at  night  before  going  to  bed  herself,  and  make 
sure  that  she  was  well  And  the  question,  so  often 


THE    WITNESSES.  291 

asked  in  those  long-lost  winters  when  the  snow-drifts 
lay  without  thicker  than  the  green  boughs  outside 
her  window  now,  seemed  to  be  spoken  again :  "  Are 
you  warm  enough,  Valeria  ? " 

They  were  all  dead  that  made  her  home,  and  she 
was  in  a  foreign  land  and  in  a  mad-house ;  yet  even 
here  something  like  mercy  had  found  her ! 

As  the  sister  came  to  her  pillow  again,  Valeria  put 
her  arms  up,  drew  the  head  down,  and  kissed  her  si- 
lently ;  and  the  kiss  was  not  for  Sister  Agnes,  but  for 
her  mother  sleeping  under  the  snows  on  a  New  Eng- 
land hillside  across  the  sea. 

"  What !'  not  sleeping  yet ! "  said  the  sister,  with  a 
pretty  chiding  in  her  voice. 

"  No  ;  but  I  think  that  your  coming  will  bring  me 
sleep.  Are  those  women  all  locked  up  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  Sister  Agnes  said.  "  They  are  always 
locked  in  at  night.  And  there  is  a  nurse  with  the 
Donna  Faustina,  whom  you  could  call  if  you  should 
want  anything." 

She  went  away,  and  this  time  did  not  lock  the. 
door. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    WITNESSES. 

"  But  these  witnesses,  were  there  any,  or  not  ? 

"  What !  Do  you  think  that  they  lacked  witnesses  ?  If  it  were 
a  question  of  nailing  our  Lord  to  the  cross  again,  do  you  believe  that 
they  would  not  find  them  <  Of  course  there  were  witnesses,  people 
who  for  the  skin  of  a  fig  would  swear  to  any  falsity." 

MARCO  VISCONTI. 


"HILE  Valeria  lay  ill,  telling  in  her  delirium  all 
the  bitter  story  of  the  past  months  ;  and  while, 
the  flood  of  her  malady  passed  by,  she  lay  faint  and 


w 


292  BY  THE   TIBER. 

exhausted  on  the  shore  of  life,  only  beginning  to  live 
again ;  and  while,  having  detected  and  resisted  their 
wish  to  take  her  to  the  Asylum,  she  had  consented  to 
go,  and  Had  been  taken  to  Villa  Barberini,  —  the  people 
who,  to  use  the  Roman  phrase,  "  interested  themselves 
in  her,"  had  been  very  busy. 

This  illness,  and  especially  the  delirium,  could  not 
have  suited  them  better  if  they  had  themselves  pro- 
cured it. 

It  is  impossible  to  commit  one  crime  alone,  unless 
the  criminal  is  willing  to  suffer  the  consequences. 
The  wrong-doer  who  wishes  to  be  held  respectable  is 
driven,  almost  in  his  own  despite,  to  whatever  means 
may  best  hide  his  fault,  even  though,  as  might  hap- 
pen, he  should  have  to  commit  a  greater  crime  to  hide 
the  first.  This  necessity  is  the  scourge  of  the  arch- 
enemy. They  have,  therefore,  the  poor  excuse  of 
self-defence. 

There  is  another  class  of  persons  who  presumably 
have  not  this  excuse.  They  may  be  correct  enough 
in  their  own  conduct,  but  they  are  very  useful  to 
those  who  are  not  correct.  Foremost  among  this  class 
in  Valeria's  affairs  was  Miss  Cromo.  Her  warning 
on  hearing  the  story  confided  to  her  had  shown  how 
perfectly  she  knew  what  would  be  the  wishes  of  those 
involved,  and  she  made  haste  to  anticipate  them. 
These  wishes  could  not  have  been  carried  out  if  she 
had  opposed  them ;  with  her  assistance,  they  could 
easily  be  realized.  She  had,  as  she  might  have  ex- 
pressed it,  the  whip-hand  in  the  affair.  She  had  the 
doctor  in  her  hands,  and  could  decide  who  should  be 
called  in  consultation.  She  had  a  great  many  ac- 
quaintances, and  was  one  of  the  foreign  centres  of 
Roman  gossip,  and  she  could  spread  a  report  widely. 
From  her  came  the  first  word  which  characterized 
Valeria's  brief  fever  delirium  as  insanity. 

Besides  her  willingness  to  do  a  harm  to  one  who 


THE    WITNESSES.  293 

had  seriously  offended  her,  she  had  two  powerful 
motives  :  she  could  thus  avoid  the  eumity  of  those  who 
might  suspect  her  as  Valeria's  confidante,  and  she  could 
secure  the  friendship  of  the  Countess  Belvedere,  who 
could  scarcely  be  ungrateful  for  such  a  service. 

She  helped  with  a  zeal  which  almost  exceeded  Bru- 
no's ;  and  she  must  have  wearied  even  her  own  very 
active  tongue  in  repeating  to  all  her  acquaintances 
the  different  inventions  of  Bruno's  company  of  assist- 
ants. 

The  servant,  Marta,  whom  Valeria  had  dismissed, 
was  questioned  by  Miss  Peudleton. 

The  girl  had  already  been  prepared.  She  was  very 
quick-witted,  and  a  hint  was  enough. 

"  Was  n't  the  Signora  Valeria  a  little  strange  ? " 
Bruno  had  asked. 

Of  course  she  was.  The  girl  poured  out  a  hundred 
stories,  —  too  many,  indeed.  It  was  necessary  to  se- 
lect from  them ;  and  she  was  made  to  understand  on 
which  she  was  to  insist. 

When  Miss  Pendleton  examined  the  witness,  she 
was  scrupulous  in  charging  her  to  tell  only  the  strict 
truth. 

Marta  at  once  related  her  inventions  in  the  most 
pious  manner,  and  swore  to  the  truth  of  them. 

Then  it  was  necessary  to  have  in  readiness  certain 
manias  which  could  riot  easily  be  disproved ;  for  Vale- 
ria could  no  longer  be  called  insane.  A  person  may 
have  a  dangerous  mania,  yet  seem  perfectly  sane. 

That  some  notable  and  flagrant  examples  of  vice 
should  have  come  to  her  knowledge  could  scarcely 
suffice.  Unfortunately,  the  number  of  persons  of  the 
highest  respectability  who  had  said  very  nearly  the 
same  thing,  and  were  still  going  about  the  world  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  their  liberty,  and  clothed  in  their 
right  mind,  would  more  than  fill  all  the  lunatic  asy- 
lums of  the  universe. 


294  BY  THE   TIBER. 

It  was  then  found  that  Valeria  was  absolutely  in- 
sane in  money-spending,  and  that  she  was  an  opium- 
eater  ;  two  very  useful  manias.  By  means  of  the  first, 
she  could  he  deprived  of  the  power  to  hold  money ; 
and  without  money,  she  was  powerless ;  by  means  of 
the  second,  her  friends  at  a  distance  might  be  made  to 
wish  that  some  restraint  might  be  put  upon  her  till 
she  should  have  been  enabled  to  break  a  habit  which 
had  already  unsettled  her  mind  and  might  destroy  her 
life. 

There  was  a  little  effort  made  to  ascribe  to  an  aber- 
ration of  mind  her  known  dislike  of  Miss  Cromo ;  but 
it  was  found  that  people  insane  upon  that  subject  were 
but  too  common,  and  the  effort  expired  in  a  laugh. 

Miss  Pendleton  went  to  consult  with  Miss  Cromo ; 
but,  as  the  former  was  "devoted  to  God,"  while  the 
latter  was  supposed  to  be  in  the  other  camp,  it  was 
necessary  to  begin  with  a  disinfecting  ceremony. 

Miss  Pendleton  introduced  the  subject  of  religion. 

Miss  Cromo  professed  herself  contrite,  humble, 
and  believing.  The  base  metal  to  which  she  had  con- 
fessed to  Valeria  had  apparently  been  again  plated 
over.  She  was  under  the  deepest  conviction.  She, 
the  clever  mocker  of  sixty,  almost  went  on  her  knees 
to  a  woman  fifteen  or  twenty  years  younger  than  her- 
self, whose  mind  and  profession  she  had  ridiculed  and 
despised.  She  assured  Miss  Pendleton  that  she  per- 
formed her  religious  duties  regularly,  went  to  Mass, 
and  said  her  prayers  morning  and  evening ;  and  she 
listened  with  meekness  to  a  somewhat  lengthened 
advice  and  admonition  against  backsliding. 

Prayers  having  thus  been  said  before  meat,  they 
proceeded  piously  and  lovingly  to  mangle  Valeria's 
reputation,  to  plot  against  her  freedom,  perhaps 
against  her  reason  and  her  life.  They  arrived  at  a 
perfect  understanding. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Miss  Pendleton  believed  one  word 


THE    WITNESSES.  295 

of  all  the  stories  which  she  heard  and  repeated ;  but 
she  persuaded  herself  that  it  was  best,  taking  all  into 
consideration,  that  Valeria  should  be  discredited,  so 
that  whatever  she  might  say  of  the  Belvedere  afl'airs 
might  be  called  a  mania,  then  sent  away,  if  she  should 
outlive  the  discrediting  process,  where  her  revelations 
would  not  annoy  such  precious  sinners. 

She  certainly  did  not  dislike  Valeria ;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  liked  her  while  she  was  submissive ;  but 
she  considered  it  in  some  sort  a  duty  to  sacrifice  her 
in  order  to  prevent  a  scandal. 

Having  found  herself  strengthened  by  Miss  Crorno, 
Miss  Pendleton  went  to  visit  another  lady. 

Mrs.  Harwood  was  a  person  of  a  very  different 
character.  She  was  a  childless  widow  in  good  circum- 
stances, but  in  bad  health.  She  was  a  kind  friend  to 
Valeria,  who  had  a  sincere  respect  and  affection  for 
her.  Of  an  upright  and  honorable  nature,  the  qual- 
ities of  her  heart  were  even  exceeded  by  those  of  her 
head  ;  and  her  intellect,  if  she  had  had  the  full  use  of 
it,  would  have  been  of  an  almost  masculine  character. 

Like  the  most  of  the  little  circle  of  Valeria's  ac- 
quaintances, she  was  a  Catholic  convert,  and,  being  an 
invalid  and  advanced  in  age,  her  religion  was  her 
chief  employment  and  consolation. 

A  peculiarity  in  her  was  the  great  respect  which 
she  professed  and  demanded  for  authority;  and  this 
sentiment  was  expressed  less  with  a  feminine  rever- 
ence than  with  the  masculine  assertion  of  one  who 
assumes  to  be  authoritative  in  himself,  and  is  defend- 
ing the  privileges  of  his  own  order.  For  while  she 
denounced  a  popular  independence  of  opinion  and 
thought,  she  was  herself  notably  independent  with 
those  whom  she  acknowledged  to  be  authorities,  and 
very  hard  to  silence  when  not  convinced  that  she  was 
wrong.  Once  convinced,  however,  she  submitted 
nobly!  She  had  the  partial  justice  of  a  good  intellect ; 


296  BY  THE    TIBER. 

but  justice  is  never  perfect  without  imagination,  and 
she  was  utterly  unimaginative.  She  was  incapable 
of  fancying  herself  in  any  other  position  than  that 
which  she  occupied. 

This  lady's  malady,  a  nervous  one,  was  peculiar. 
She  was  subject  to  short  trances,  into  which  she  would 
fall  while  talking,  or  after  any  exertion  of  the  mind. 
The  face  became  vacant,  the  eyes  fixed,  the  form 
motionless.  If  addressed  at  such  a  time,  she  did  not 
seem  to  hear.  She  appeared  to  be  insensible,  sitting 
upright  with  her  eyes  open. 

After  a  minute  or  so,  during  which  her  interlocutor 
would  pause  in  embarrassment  or  fear,  according  to 
his  degree  of  familiarity  with  this  phenomenon,  she 
would  suddenly  resume  the  conversation  where  she 
had  left  it,  and  go  on  talking,  without  seeming  to  be 
aware  that  she  had  interrupted  herself.  If  the  person 
had  continued  talking  to  her,  she  had  either  no 
knowledge,  or  a  very  distorted  idea,  of  what  had  been 
said. 

This  nervous  malady  had  other  consequences.  One 
was  an  impatience  of  being  kept  waiting  or  of  being 
contradicted,  which  would  sometimes  throw  her  into 
a  sudden  fury,  as  startling  to  one  not  accustomed  to 
her  as  a  sudden  squall  across  a  glassy  lake.  Her  face 
would  crimson  with  an  instantaneous  rush  of  blood, 
her  voice  would  rise  almost  to  a  scream,  and,  though 
infirm,  she  would  for  the  moment  be  endowed  with 
the  agility  of  youth  and  health.  Then,  as  suddenly, 
the  squall  was  over,  and  she  seemed  as  unconscious  of 
it  as  she  had  been  of  the  trance. 

Her  friends  spoke  of  her  with  affectionate  indul- 
gence and  pity.  Among  indifferent  people  she  was 
unceremoniously  spoken  of  as  half  crazy. 

This  lady,  then,  herself  at  liberty,  was  held  to  be 
an  authority  in  deciding  whether  another  should  be 
put  under  restraint. 


THE    WITNESSES.  297 

The  subject  pained  and  disturbed  her;  she  was 
sorry  for  Valeria,  and  she  did  not  feel  herself  well 
enough  to  take  any  responsibility  in  the  affairs  of 
others,  though,  on  hearing  the  stories  that  were  brought 
to  her,  she  unhesitatingly  decided  that  Valeria  ought 
to  be  sent  to  an  asylum.  Shut  up  within  the  four 
walls  of  her  house,  and  utterly  lacking  in  that  artistic 
curiosity  and  in  the  lively  charity  which  might  have 
made  her,  had  she  possessed  them,  wish  to  know  what 
was  going  on  in  the  world,  she  knew  nothing  and 
cared  nothing  beyond  her  own  circle,  and  she  held 
her  exclusion  to  be  a  virtue.  Those  habits  of  obser- 
vation which  make  the  artist  and  the  writer,  she 
held  to  be  a  fault  in  Valeria. 

It  was  not  alone  Miss  Pendleton  who  talked  to  this 
lady  ;  Miss  Cromo,  with  whom  she  had  no  intimacy, 
and  in  whom  she  had  no  confidence,  invited  her  to  go 
out  to  drive,  and  came  for  her  in  a  cab,  that  they  might 
talk  without  interruption. 

Miss  Cromo  began  with  praises  of  Valeria.  She 
was  so  fond  of  her,  so  sorry  for  her ;  poor  Valeria  had 
so  much  talent ;  had  Mrs.  Harwood  read  her  last 
story  in  the  Sunrise  Monthly  ?  No  ?  What  a  pity  ! 
She  would  herself  lend  it  to  her.  She  liked  it  better 
than  anything  she  had  previously  read  of  Valeria's. 

Then  came  the  object  of  their  interview. 

Mrs.  Harwood  knew  Miss  Cromo's  character  per- 
fectly in  a  theoretical  way.  She  had  said  to  Valeria 
of  a  mutual  acquaintance  of  theirs,  "  Clarissa  knows 
her,  root  and  branch."  Yet  practically  she  could  be 
made  by  her  to  believe  almost  anything. 

Miss  Cromo,  doing  all  that  she  could  to  prove  that 
Valeria  was  fit  only  for  a  lunatic  asylum,  begged  that 
she  might  not  be  sent  to  one,  and  Mrs.  Harwood 
insisted  that  there  was  no  other  course  possible. 
Though  she  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the  case 
except  by  hearsay,  she  considered  it  perfectly  clear, 


298  BY  THE    TIBER. 

and  abundantly  proved.  Whether  she  would  have 
considered  such  witnesses  sufficient  if  it  had  been  a 
question  of  shutting  herself  up,  is  doubtful. 

Mrs.  Harwood  knew  the  American  Consul  and 
was  known  by  him,  and  her  word  would  have  weight 
with  him.  It  was  for  this  chiefly  that  she  was 
wanted. 

The  two  doctors,  though  apparently  the  most 
important,  were,  in  reality,  secondary  characters  in 
the  drama.  An  able  and  honest  physician  would 
have  swept  this  network  away  like  a  spider's-web. 

Good  care  was  taken  that  no  such  person  should 
be  called.  Dr.  Kraus  had  been  skilfully  manipulated 
by  Miss  Cromo.  He  understood  that  he  might  make 
friends  by  pronouncing  against  Valeria,  and  enemies 
by  resisting  the  influences  brought  to  bear  upon  him. 

He  certainly  did  not  expect  that  his  dictum  would 
ever  be  called  into  question,  or  he  would  never  have 
dared  to  pronounce  it.  He  had  to  choose  between 
the  weak  and  the  strong,  and  he  did  not  hesitate. 
Still  he  would  never  of  himself  have  ventured  to  call 
such  a  physician  as  Dr.  Lacelles  in  consultation.  He 
would  have  preferred,  maybe,  to  call  a  man  of  some 
reputation,  and  throw  the  responsibility  off  his  own 
shoulders.  He  was  not  allowed  to. 

Dr.  Lacelles  was  a  familiar  visitor  of  Miss  Cromo's, 
and  being,  according  to  her,  a  solemn  ass,  was  admi- 
rably calculated  to  sign  the  document  which  should 
put  Valeria  out  of  the  way. 

Dr.  Lacelles  was  doubtless  entirely  honest,  and 
certainly  not  malicious.  But  he  was  fond  of  the 
marvellous;  and  he  naturally  liked  to  be  of  some 
importance  in  his  profession.  This  was  probably  the 
first  time  in  his  life  that  he.  had  ever  been  called  in 
consultation,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  his  professional 
services  had  been  required  before  in  any  way  since 
his  sojourn  in  the  Holy  City. 


THE    WITNESSES.  299 

He  talked  with  Valeria  in  her  delirium,  and  lis- 
tened to  all  the  stories  that  were  told  him  by  others. 
Perhaps  he  consulted  some  medical  volume.  Finally, 
when,  worn  to  a  shadow  by  three  weeks  of  severe 
physical  suffering  badly  cured,  or  not  cured  at  all,  the 
patient  was  feebly  creeping  back  to  life  in  spite  of 
doctors  and  visitors,  Dr.  Lacelles  decided  that  she  was 
hopelessly  insane. 

It  had  a  fine  sound,  that  "  hopelessly  insane."  It 
was  striking,  and  made  people  stare.  And  when  the 
poor  maniac  was  known  to  have  a  novel  at  the  point 
of  publication,  the  affair  became  dramatic,  even  tragi- 
cal. If  the  book  should  receive  attention,  it  might 
call  the  doctors  into  notice.  It  was  not  every  doctor 
who  could  put  a  novelist  into  a  lunatic  asylum,  how- 
ever he  might  wish  to  do  so.  Then  people  would 
be  sure  to  ask  him  questions  about  it,  and  he  would 
have  the  pleasure  of  telling  a  striking  story. 

On  the  whole,  such  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing 
himself  might  never  again  be  offered  to  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  improve  it.  He  did  not  get  a  patient  so 
often  as  to  willingly  let  one  go  who  he  knew  was  not 
likely  ever  to  avail  herself  again  of  his  services.  He 
secured  his  prize  by  shutting  her  up.  It  was  better 
to  have  had  a  crazy  patient  than  not  to  have  had 
any. 

So  much  for  the  star  performers,  and  the  people 
who  pulled  the  wires. 

There  was  also  a  chorus.  There  were  indifferent 
people,  who,  now  they  came  to  think  of  it,  had  always 
found  Valeria  odd.  There  must  be  something  morbid 
in  a  person  who  does  not  appreciate  the  bliss  of 
receptions,  calls,  dinners,  and  tattle.  She  had  prob- 
ably been  queer  for  a  long  time. 

It  all  helped.  "  Quod  non  fecerunt  barbari,  fecenint 
Barberini."  What  malice  had  not  done,  imbecility 
finished. 


300  BY  THE    TIBER. 

Many  of  them  pitied  Valeria,  they  even  wiped 
their  eyes  in  speaking  of  her  when  it  was  thought 
that  she  might  die.  They  felt  themselves  to  be  very 
charitable  toward  her  ;  and,  understanding  the  corpo- 
ral works  of  mercy  to  be  an  unlimited  use  of  their 
tongues,  they  performed  that  duty  with  an  admirable 
zeal. 

If  she  had  died,  it  is  probable  that  she  would  have 
had  rather  a  grand  funeral,  and  would  have  been 
found  to  be  possessed  of  many  virtues. 

There  are  persons  who  are  impracticable  in  this 
world,  but  they  make  such  beautiful  figures  out  of  it 
that  it  seems  very  bad  taste  in  them  not  to  give  their 
friends  the  melancholy  pleasure  of  wreathing  their 
cold  brows  with  the  corona  funebralis. 

As  for  the  consul,  his  part  was  to  sign  the  papers. 
He  took  for  granted  that  all  was  right.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  lady  except  what  had  been  told  him ; 
and  since  they  told  him  that  she  was  insane,  he  took 
for  granted  that  she  was. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MAKING  THE  BEST   OF  IT. 

VALERIA  remained  in  her  room  the  next  day,  and 
thought  over  her  position.  The  one  decision 
that  she  could  arrive  at  was  to  make  no  protest. 
Everything  was  very  comfortable  as  long  as  she  did 
not  see  those  women,  and  in  her  own  room  she  was 
perfectly  separated  from  them.  She  said  nothing, 
therefore.  To  her  languor  and  weakness,  which  made 
talking  difficult,  was  added  the  conviction  that  she 
had  better  not  talk. 

Miss  Pendletou  came  tc  see  her  the  second  day, 


MAKING   THE  BEST  OF  IT,  301 

having  learned  from  the  sister  that  she  made  no  com- 
plaint, and  seemed  unaware  of  the  deception  that  had 
been  practised  upon  her  ;  and  even  to  Miss  Pendle- 
ton  she  made  no  reproach.  She  was  scarcely  sure 
that  the  lady  deserved  any  ;  for  she  did  not  yet  know 
that  the  lunatic  asylum  of  the  Lungara  and  Villa 
Barberini  were  different  classes  of  the  same  establish- 
ment. 

Miss  Pendleton  seemed  very  anxious  that  she 
should  be  comfortable,  and  was  delighted  with  her 
apparent  contentment.  She  reiterated  her  charges  to 
Valeria  not  to  give  herself  any  trouble,  and  her  prom- 
ises that  everything  should  be  done  for  her.  She 
promised  to  send  her  books  to  read,  and  to  visit  her 
often. 

Valeria  said  but  little.  She  was  feeling  a  slight 
difficulty  in  breathing,  and  shivered  a  little  now  and 
then.  Her  exposure  to  the  rain  on  coming  to  this 
place  was  bringing  back  both  the  fever  and  conges- 
tion of  the  lungs  ;  and  she  had  added  to  her  cold  in 
going  out  into  the  villa  that  day.  Sister  Agnes,  having 
had  no  idea  given  her  of  her  patient's  state  of  health, 
had  taken  no  precautions. 

Miss  Pendleton  went,  and  the  Medical  Director  of 
the  Asylum  came  to  visit  her,  and  stayed  some  time. 
He  was  a  handsome,  stately  gentleman,  and  his  title 
suited  him.  He  was  a  cavalier. 

What  did  she  wish  for  ?  She  had  but  to  command. 
Was  she  comfortable  ?  Did  she  like  her  room  ?  Let 
her  say  what  was  lacking,  and  it  should  be  ordered 
for  her  at  once. 

Valeria  felt  more  hopeful  and  secure  after  this  visit. 
She  had  little  confidence  in  women,  not  believing 
them  capable  of  justice.  They  might  have  noble  and 
generous  impulses  and  tender  hearts,  but  their  prin- 
ciples were,  in  her  opinion,  very  sketchy  and  pliable. 
She  would  never  have  given  to  woman  the  ballot,  the 


302  BY  THE   TIBER. 

law,  nor  the  sole  direction  of  any  institution  whatever 
where  they  would  have  unquestioned  power  over 
others.  She  did  not  believe  in  angelic  women,  though 
she  knew  that  there  were  good  women.  She  always 
suspected  an  angelic  woman  to  be  an  illusion,  a  hypo- 
crite, or  a  mere  unproven  piece  of  composition  which 
would  not  stand  fire.  "  No  woman  has  a  right  to  be 
an  angel  to  anybody  but  her  lover,"  she  said;  and, 
also,  "  I  never  saw  a  perfect  woman  who  had  not 
some  serious  imperfection  hidden  in  her."  Her  only 
divisions  of  women  were  into  those  who  listen  and 
peep  at  keyholes,  and  those  who  do  not ;  and  the 
subdivision  of  those  who  do  not,  into  women  who  are 
blockheads,  and  women  who  have  brains.  Her  ideal 
woman  was  an  intellectual  one,  who  resolutely  minded 
her  own  business. 

As  for  those  men  whom  she  did  not  find  either 
odious  or  indifferent,  she  regarded  them  with  a  some- 
what ideal  homage.  In  the  shadow  of  a  serious,  strong, 
broad-shouldered  man  she  sat  down  as  contented  as  a 
lamb  in  the  shade  of  a  rock  at  noonday.  She  had 
the  most  tranquil  confidence  in  their  power  to  slay 
giants,  lions,  and  dragons. 

The  entrance  of  a  gentleman  on  the  scene  was, 
therefore,  reassuring. 

When  he  went,  her  feet  were  cold  and  her  head 
hot.  Later,  she  became  so  cold  that  she  went  to  bed 
to  warm  herself;  and  when  her  supper  was  brought, 
she  could  not  eat.  She  was  shivering  violently.  Hot 
applications  were  made  at  once ;  but  they  came  too 
late, 

From  that  moment  every  care  was  taken  of  her; 
but  she  went  downward.  It  was  a  return  of  the  ill- 
ness from  which  she  had  just  begun  to  recover. 

But  the  circumstances  were  different.  Here  were 
intelligent  and  authoritative  medical  attendance,  and 
good  nurses.  Nothing  that  skill  or  charity  could  do 


MAKING    THE  BEST  OF  IT.  303 

was  omitted ;  and  thanks  to  such  care,  she  was  not 
delirious,  though  sometimes  half  unconscious,  and  in- 
capable of  all  mental  effort. 

Miss  Pendleton  came  to  see  her  one  day  with  Mrs. 
Harwood,  but  she  could  not  talk  with  them;  and 
they  were  not  allowed  to  stay  long. 

The  days  dragged  wearily,  in  that  most  frightful  of 
all  pain  of  suffocation.  The  doctors  themselves  became 
almost  discouraged,  and  Valeria  thought  that  she  was 
going  to  die. 

"  Ask  the  Director  if  he  thinks  that  I  will  ever  get 
well,"  she  said  one  day  to  Miss  Pendleton,  who  had 
come  to  see  her.  "  I  ought  to  know  the  truth." 

Miss  Pendleton  went,  and  returned  with  the  answer, 
"  He  says  that  you  may  recover,  but  that  it  will  take 
a  long  time,  and  a  great  deal  of  care." 

A  fortnight  of  misery  passed  ;  then  one  day  life 
found  a  point  for  his  lever  to  rest  upon,  and  lifted, 
little  by  little,  the  weight  of  suffering.  She  could  sit 
up  in  bed,  and  she  wrote  a  few  letters,  with  the  re- 
luctant consent  of  Sister  Agnes. 

On  one  of  those  days  Miss  Pendleton,  who  had 
undertaken  all  her  affairs,  and  among  them  the  care 
of  her  letters,  gave  her  a  letter  and  a  magazine  from 
America.  The  magazine  contained  a  story  of  hers, 
and  the  letter  the  publisher's  check.  She  indorsed 
the  check,  making  it  payable  to  Miss  Pendleton,  and 
gave  it  to  her. 

"  Have  you  drawn  for  the  other  money  I  told  you 
of?"  she  asked.  "You  know  I  cannot  go  to  the  bank. 
I  have  written  them  to  pay  your  draft." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  with  any  thoughts  of  busi- 
ness, my  dear,"  Miss  Pendleton  said.  "  Everything  will 
be  done  for  you.  We  will  see  to  everything." 

"  But  it  troubles  me  not  to  know  anything,"  Valeria 
said.  "  Is  there  any  one  in  my  apartment  yet  ?  You 
said  you  knew  a  tenant  who  would  like  to  have  it" 


304  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  I  have  given  up  the  apartment  to  the  landlord," 
Miss  Pendleton  answered,  not  without  a  slight  air  of 
bracing  herself  for  a  possible  battle. 

"  But  the  furniture,"  Valeria  said,  amazed. 

"  I  have  given  that  up,  reserving  some  few  things 
that  I  thought  you  might  like  to  keep,  your  candela- 
bra and  the  table  things." 

"  But  I  had  a  lease,  and  I  ought  to  have  seen  the 
man,"  Valeria  persisted.  "  And,  besides,  there  were 
two  or  three  articles  of  rare  furniture  not  easily  found, 
and  I  don't  want  to  lose  them." 

"  The  man  does  n't  want  to  talk  anything  about  the 
matter,"  Miss  Pendleton  said,  telling  a  falsehood ;  for 
he  had  asked  to  see  Valeria,  and  preferred  to  wait  till 
he  could  see  her.  "  I  have  given  it  all  up.  I  thought 
it  was  best." 

Valeria  had  meant  to  give  up  the  house,  but  to  do 
so  in  her  own  time  and  way,  and  she  was  stupefied  at 
this  high-handed  proceeding. 

"  You  know  you  said  that  you  wanted  to  go  back 
to  America,  and  were  invited  to  stay  at  the  convent 
where  Sister  Veronica  is." 

"  I  thought  of  going,  but  was  not  decided  to," 
Valeria  replied.  "I  am  bound  to  nothing.  I  hold 
myself  free  to  stay  or  to  go,  or  to  live  where  I  may 
like  when  I  shall  be  well  again." 

"Well,  don't  think  anything  about  it  now,"  Miss 
Pendleton  said,  with  soothing  affection.  "  Think  only 
of  getting  well;  and  all  the  rest  can  be  settled  after- 
ward." 

Valeria  submitted.  She  had  never  dreamed  of  sus- 
pecting Miss  Pendleton ;  she  had  never  dreamed  that 
she  was  not  free,  and  that  she  could  not  leave  the 

n3e  where  she  was  as  soon  as  she  should  be  out  of 
.     What  motive  could  Miss  Pendleton  have  but  a 
charitable  one  ?     None,  surely  ;  and  to  such  charity 
much  might  be  pardoned.     That  the  affairs  of  the 


MAKING   THE  BEST  OF  IT.  305 

Countess  Belvedere  had  any  connection  with  her 
being  brought  to  this  place  never  occurred  to  her  im- 
agination. Of  the  wild  stories  going  about  her,  she 
had  no  conception.  She  supposed  that,  having  so  few 
acquaintances,  no  one  spoke  of  her  affairs ;  and  she 
believed  that  there  was  nothing  uncommon  in  her 
circumstances. 

A  day  or  two  after  a  letter  came  to  her  from  a 
friend  in  Paris  to  whom  she  had  written  as  soon  as 
she  became  aware  what  sort  of  place  she  was  in. 
Her  complaiut  had  been  very  gentle.  "  I  was  very 
sick,  and  needed  care,"  she  wrote ;  "but  I  think  some 
other  place  might  have  been  found  than  a  lunatic 
asylum,  or  that  I  might  have  been  left  quiet  in  my 
own  house." 

The  reply  was  an  indignant  one.  "  They  had  no 
right  to  put  you  in  such  an  establishment,"  her  friend 
wrote.  "I  have  written  a  letter  of  expostulation 
to  Mrs.  Harwood.  You  ought  to  be  taken  away 
immediately." 

Valeria  wrote  at  once  a  soothing  reply.  "I  am 
taken  such  good  care  of  here,  and  every  one  is  so 
kind,  that  I  think  it  best  to  stay  till  I  am  quite 
well." 

Every  day  her  health  improved.  She  could  sit  up, 
and  she  had  the  promise  of  going  to  church  on  Christ- 
mas Day.  And  a  few  days  before  Christinas  Miss 
Pendleton  came  again  to  see  her,  accompanied  by 
Madame  de  la  Roche,  the  superior  of  the  convent 
where  she  lived. 

Valeria  had  known  and  admired  this  lady,  and  ran 
to  kiss  her  hand  with  the  greatest  pleasure  when  she 
entered.  "  How  good  of  you  to  come  ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  This  makes  my  '  Merry  Christmas.' " 

The  superior  of  the  nuns  in  charge  of  the  Asylum 
came  to  see  Valeria  the  same  evening,  and  said  that 
she  had  talked  with  her  visitors  as  they  went  out. 
20 


306  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"And,"  she  said,  "Madame  de  la  Koche  said  to  me, 
'Why,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  that  lady. 
Mademoiselle  Valerie  is  perfectly  reasonable.' " 

Valeria  made  no  reply.  They  had  said  that  there 
was  something  the  matter  with  her,  then;  and  she  had 
not  been  believed  to  have  her  reason  perfectly ! 

From  that  day  she  began  to  take  short  walks  in  the 
grounds,  accompanied  by  Sister  Agnes  or  by  Fidelia, 
and  on  Christmas  morning  she  went  to  the  chapel  to 
communion,  and  to  the  coretto  of  the  nuns  for  Mass. 

This  church-going  showed  her  that  the  Villa  Barbe- 
rini  was  but  a  part  of  the  Lunatic  Asylum  of  the 
Lungara,  to  which  she  had  absolutely  refused  to  go. 
The  chapel  was  in  the  Lungara,  and  the  long  way  that 
led  to  it  revealed  everything. 

Passing  down  the  little  terraced  garden  in  an  angle 
of  the  walls  close  to  the  casino,  they  entered  a  long 
passage  which  led  over  the  arch  of  San  Spirito,  and 
connected  the  two  parts  of  the  establishment  on  the 
two  sides  of  the  street.  Arrived  at  the  Tiber  side, 
they  entered  a  labyrinth  of  dormitories,  —  long,  som- 
bre halls,  with  no  furniture  but  a  double  row  of  white 
beds  down  the  sides,  and  an  alternate  chair  and  table 
between  them. 

Nothing  could  be  more  mournful  than  these  great 
deserted  chambers,  tenanted  at  night  by  a  crowd  of 
disordered  brains,  a  strange,  nightmare  company  of 
condemned  and  executed  criminals  against  reason. 
What  cries,  what  dreams,  what  mutterings,  what 
wild  terrors,  must  these  dim  walls  have  witnessed 
when  the  night-lamp  threw  its  pallid  ray  along  those 
lines  of  living  graves  wherein  so  many  a  soul  lay 
dead  to  all  but  torment !  What  gesticulating  hands, 
what  eyes  peeping  wildly  from  under  the  pillows, 
what  breaths  more  terrible  than  screams  ! 

Valeria  had  heard  a  story  of  the  men's  department 
of  this  establishment.  A  large  knife  had  been  left 


MAKING   THE  BEST  OF  IT.  307 

with  a  plate,  by  some  oversight,  in  the  long  dormitory, 
where  a  male  nurse  slept  at  either  end.  When  all 
were  asleep,  one  of  the  maniacs,  softly  rising,  had 
fallen  upon  the  nurse  nearest  to  him  so  suddenly  as 
to  prevent  any  outcry,  killed  him,  cut  off  his  head, 
and  set  it  in  the  plate.  Going,  then,  to  the  other 
nurse,  he  wakened  him,  and  showed  him  the  ghastly 
head.  "  You  see,  he  is  still  asleep,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  closed  eyes. 

"  How  dared  they  put  me  in  such  a  place  ! "  thought 
Valeria,  with  a  sudden  blaze  of  horror  and  indignation. 
"  How  dared  they  !  " 

The  boldness  of  her  committal  there  stupefied  her. 
She  was  almost  incredulous  of  it.  She  looked  back 
through  all  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since,  in  her 
own  house,  she  had  emerged  from  the  darkness  of 
delirium,  aud  she  saw  no  excuse  for  such  an  act. 
Everything  was  remembered.  She  had  forgotten 
nothing. 

The  dormitories  passed,  they  came  to  an  iron  screen 
leading  to  a  stairway  and  a  long  gallery  looking  into 
a  court.  Here  there  was  a  buzzing  like  the  sound  of 
a  bee-hive.  Poorly  dressed  women,  those  of  the  third 
class,  sat  along  the  sides  of  the  gallery.  Below,  in 
the  court,  a  crowd  of  women  wandered  about.  One 
wore  a  crown  of  straws ;  another  ran  about  searching 
for  something  which  she  never  found ;  a  third  sat  on 
a  bench,  and  gazed  before  her  with  a  face  of  despair ; 
a  fourth  laughed  like  an  idiot;  —  there  was  every 
form  of  madness. 

The  coretto  was  a  small  chapel,  in  one  side  of  which 
a  grated  window  looked  down  on  the  altar  of  a  little 
church.  A  chair  was  placed  for  Valeria  before  this 
grating,  and  she  tried  to  assist  at  the  Mass  in  peace 
of  mind.  But  it  was  impossible.  All  her  self-control 
was  necessary  to  keep  the  tears  back.  It  revolted  her 
to  hear  Mass  through  iron  bars,  she  who  had  often 


308  BY  THE    TIBER. 

longed  to  hear  it  in  the  open  air,  and  scarcely  liked 
the  gilded  roof  of  a  basilica  over  her,  or  the  tossing 
feathers  of  a  lady's  hat  between  her  and  the  altar. 

Then  there  was  the  wretched  walk  back  through 
the  dormitories.  What  a  paradise  the  garden  seemed 
when  they  came  out  into  it  from  the  arch  of  San 
Spirito  ! 

The  casino,  which  joined  the  wall  of  the  villa  on 
the  Lungara  side,  was  near  the  southern  corner  of  the 
grounds,  and  the  avenue  beginning  at  the  arch  ran 
between  narrow  gardens  at  this  side,  laid  in  small 
terraced  flats  next  the  wall,  but  smoothly  curved,  and 
rising  to  the  house  at  the  other  side.  Every  beautiful 
flowering  tree  and  plant  had  been  lavished  here,  and 
even  now  there  were  flowers.  A  gigantic  pepper-tree 
hung  full  of  red  berries  against  the  windows,  and 
a  beautiful  palm  stood  like  a  fountain  arrested  in 
mid  air,  and  turned  to  a  tree,  close  to  the  lower 
veranda. 

Following  a  foot-path  through  the  shrubbery  beside 
the  casino,  Valeria  reached  the  garden  in  front,  and 
seated  herself  on  a  bench  against  the  balustrade  there. 
All  Rome,  from  the  Castel  Sant'  Angelo  southward, 
was  stretched  out  before  her,  not  flattened  as  in  many 
views,  but  with  all  its  various  curves,  and  its  hills  and 
hollows.  The  Tiber  ran  past,  and  glimmered  under 
the  iron  bridge,  and  the  bridge  of  San  Sisto,  and  away, 
away  past  the  palaces  and  domes  and  towers  that 
were*  laden  with  history  as  a  toiling  brain  with 
thoughts,  and  weary  with  their  memories,  mumbled 
now  through  crumbling  stones.  Here  rose  the  Quirinal 
with  its  palace,  there  the  Pincio  lifted  its  leafy  coronet, 
far  away  the  Esquiline  showed  its  soaring  campanile, 
and  lower  down  the  Coelian  and  the  Palatine  with 
their  gardens,  and  the  melancholy  Janiculum  a  con- 
fusion of  piled  and  sculptured  stone,  and  gardens,  and 
pines  and  cypresses.  It  was  glorious;  but  it  was  like 


MAKING    THE  BEST  OF  IT.  309 

all  the  glory  of  man,  more  than  half  mournful  and 
cruel. 

On  the  second  side  of  the  building  enclosing  the 
garden  three  long  windows  opened  out  on  a  veranda 
on  the  ground-floor.  These  three  windows  opened 
from  three  rooms  belonging  to  the  first  class.  The 
outer  one  was  the  Donna  Claudia's,  the  inner  belonged 
to  the  Duchess.  In  the  central  one  the  window  was 
almost  always  closed,  and  had  the  blinds  drawn 
together. 

As  Valeria  sat  there,  this  window  was  opened  from 
within,  and  a  tall  lady,  dressed  in  white,  came  out  and 
seated  herself  on  the  bench  at  the  veranda.  She  had 
an  air  at  once  of  refinement  and  of  suffering.  This 
lady  was  called  the  Signora  bianca,  from  her  dress. 
She  never  spoke  to  any  of  the  other  patients,  never 
went  to  walk,  nor  met  the  others  at  table.  All  her 
time  was  passed  in  her  room,  except  that  now  and 
then,  when  the  garden  was  almost  deserted,  she  came 
out  and  sat  in  the  sunlight  for  a  moment.  She  was 
not  insane,  though  she  was  nervous  and  excitable,  and 
an  air  of  mystery  surrounded  her.  The  beautiful  toi- 
lets that  she  had  brought  with  her  showed  that  she 
had  been  in  fashionable  society.  She  never  wore  any 
of  them.  Summer  and  winter,  she  wore  nothing  but 
white.  She  was  waiting  for  a  gentleman  to  whom 
she  was  engaged  to  come  and  marry  her,  she  said  to 
her  attendant;  and  she  had  waited  there  for  years. 
Meantime  her  long,  beautiful  hair  of  loosely  curling 
flax-color  was  turning  white.  She  spoke  Italian  with 
elegance,  but  seemed  to  be  German. 

Sister  Agnes  came  up  from  the  Community,  which, 
with  the  kitchens,  officers'  rooms,  chapel,  and  third- 
class  women  patients,  was  at  the  other  .side  of  the 
Lungara.  The  casino,  one  might  say,  was  the  draw- 
ing-room of  the  establishment.  All  the  ladies  then 
came  out  into  the  garden  for  the  air.  As  they  ap- 


310  BY  THE   TIBER. 

peared,  the  iSignora  bianco,  rose  hastily,  and  retired  to 
her  room,  closing  the  Venetian  blinds  behind  her. 

Instantly  the  scene  took  a  new  character.  It  was 
beautiful,  but  it  became  terrible.  For  all  that  beauty 
of  nature  and  art  became  at  once  implacable.  It  was 
the  vision  of  Paradise  to  Dives  in  hell.  The  streets 
stretched  away  not  far  below,  yet  they  could  not  set 
foot  in  them.  Within  sight  of  them  were  women  who 
leaned  from  their  windows,  and  went  about  as  they 
liked,  and  complained,  maybe,  of  their  lot,  not  realiz- 
ing that  they  had  the  supreme  good  of  liberty,  and  a 
right  to  themselves.  They  would  have  looked  on  these 
women  shut  up  here  as  in  some  way  radically  different 
from  themselves,  instead  of  being,  many  of  them,  but  a 
step  in  advance  on  the  path  of  unreason.  These  women 
walked  in  beautiful  gardens,  and  their  faces  and  their 
hearts  were  sad.  If  they  spoke,  their  words  were 
held  as  folly.  They  were  not  believed  even  when 
they  told  the  truth.  If  they  should  escape  for  a  mo- 
ment and  run  to  the  gate  under  the  bridge,  the  porter 
would  not  let  them  pass.  The  gate  was  high,  and  the 
wall  was  high,  and  they  could  not  fly  over.  If  one 
should  steal  away  for  a  moment,  slip  through  the  long 
passage  over  the  bridge  unseen,  go  down  the  stair,  and 
stand  at  the  front  gate,  with  only  an  iron  screen  be- 
tween her  and  liberty,  still  she  could  not  pass.  She 
would  have  to  return.  If  she  showed  anger,  even 
such  anger  as  a  sane  person  might  show,  if  not  wise 
enough  to  control  herself,  she  would  be  locked  into 
her  room,  and  perhaps  put  in  a  straight-jacket.  When 
they  were  conducted  to  their  rooms  at  night  and  put 
to  bed,  the  light  was  taken  away,  and  the  door  locked. 
They  were  never  lost  sight  of.  It  was  the  duty  of  the 
attendants  to  keep  them  always  in  view,  and  to  know 
everything  that  they  did.  They  had  no  privacy. 
The  same  watchfulness  which  is  necessary  for  the 
most  cunning  and  dangerous  maniac  is  necessary 


MAKING   THE  BEST  OF  IT.  311 

for  her  who  shows  little  or  no  sign  of  mental  disease. 
It  is  assumed  that  every  person  placed  in  such  a 
house  is  placed  there  because  she  may  do  some  harm 
to  others  or  to  herself,  and  although  there  may  be 
no  indications  of  any  such  danger,  they  are  bound 
to  look  out  for  and  expect  them.  One  can  never 
calculate  surely  upon  the  vagaries  of  an  insane 
person. 

Moreover,  it  is  not  solely  the  indications  of  real  in- 
sanity which  are  commented  upon  and  noted  in  such 
a  place ;  but  every  little  characteristic  word  or  act, 
every  mark  of  originality,  every  sign  of  anger  or  impa- 
tience which  a  free  person  may  freely  show  unsus- 
pected,—  all  are  so  many  proofs  of  insanity.  The 
nurse  may  be  angry ;  the  doctor  may  be  angry ;  the 
patient, — no.  You  try  to  conceal  some  innocent  affair 
of  your  own,  from  delicacy,  or  from  a  natural  pride  or 
reserve ;  and  you  are  held  to  be  cunning.  The  affair 
is  searched  out,  as  it  may  be  something  dangerous. 
By  a  strange  sort  of  reasoning,  the  very  desire  to  leave 
the  asylum  is  held  to  be  a  proof  of  unsound  mind,  and 
contentment  a  sign  of  improvement.  Precisely  the 
acts  and  words  natural  to  a  sane  person  whom  some 
plot  has  entrapped  into  an  asylum  of  this  kind  would 
be  held  by  one  believing  the  person  to  be  insane  as 
proofs  of  insanity. 

No  crime  is  easier  to  commit  against  an  unpro- 
tected person  than  to  accuse  him  of  insanity,  prove 
him  insane,  put  him  into  an  asylum,  and  there  drive 
him  mad.  The  very  accusation  is  strong  to  bring 
about  its  own  justification  ;  and  the  ignorance  or  dis- 
honesty of  physicians  is  seconded  by  the  ignorance  of 
the  public. 

People  study  books,  but  they  do  not  study  their 
neighbors  nor  themselves  ;  and  a  thousand  things  in 
their  own  conduct  or  the  conduct  of  those  about  them 
are  passed  over  without  the  slightest  notice,  which 


312  BY  THE    TIBER. 

in  a  person  whom  they  believed  or  suspected  to  be 
insane  would  be  to  their  minds  the  most  palpable 
eccentricities. 

Let  any  one  watch  his  dearest  friend  for  one  day, 
trying  to  imagine  that  some  one  wishes  to  prove  that 
friend  to  be  insane,  and 'see  how  many  times  dur- 
ing the  day  he  will  tremble  lest  the  proofs  may  be 
found. 

It  cannot  be  expected  that  the  persons  having  im- 
mediate charge  of  the  insane  should  be  wiser  than 
their  day  and  generation.  The  physicians  are  edu- 
cated to  their  work ;  but  the  nurses,  often  ignorant 
people,  are  not.  And,  unfortunately,  it  is  in  the 
power  of  the  nurse,  by  his  very  ignorance,  to  preju- 
dice the  physician  against  the  patient. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  the  story  of  the  rustic 
neighborhood  which  set  down  Wordsworth  and  his 
friends  as  a  company  of  lunatics.  Who  but  lunatics 
would  wander  about  at  night,  gazing  at  the  stars  ? 
To  the  vulgar  and  the  material,  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion are  a  sort  of  insanity.  These  people  have  a  term 
of  their  own  ;  it  is,  "  cracked."  And  the  word  is  not 
so  badly  chosen.  The  one  they  presume  to  criticise 
has  cracked  the  shell  wherein  they  lie  in  complacent 
darkness.  One  may  fancy  that  the  grub  may  call  the 
butterfly  "  cracked." 

Valeria  was  thinking  of  these  things  as  she  sat  and 
looked  at  the  patients :  Sor  Aguesina  of  the  yellow 
hair,  forgetting  the  wrongs  of  the  Pope  in  a  new 
i  pattern  of  crochet ;  the  Duchess,  happy  over  a  journal 
of  fashion  ;  Donna  Claudia,  walking  to  and  fro,  swing- 
ing her  handkerchief  by  the  corner ;  the  Donna  Faus- 
tina, making  a  bit  of  tatting  into  which  she  wove  a 
straw  and  some  raisin-stems  saved  from  her  yester- 
day's dinner ;  and  the  Signora  Eleanor,  a  young  wo- 
man who  had  gone  mad  on  the  death  of  her  husband, 
scowling  by  herself  in  a  corner,  and  refusing  to  speak 


MAKING    THE  BEST  OF  IT.  313 

to  any  one.  And  she  was  among  these  !  They  were 
all  crazy,  and  they  were  her  companions ! 

Were  beautiful  flowers  and  trees  and  fountains, 
and  a  panorama  of  Rome  rolled  out  from  the  walls 
that  surrounded  her,  a  compensation  ? 

No;  but  they  were  a  consolation  and  a  preserv- 
ative. 

Valeria  was  settling  in  her  own  mind  what  she 
should  do  ;  and  she  was  asking  herself  some  questions 
that  made  her  tremble.  She  felt  now  that  she  could 
not  have  been  placed  in  this  house  as  a  person  en- 
tirely in  her  right  mind.  She  believed  herself  free  to 
go  away  when  she  would,  now  that  she  was  well  and 
gaining  strength;  but  she  was  sure  that  she  must 
have  been  committed  to  the  place  with  some  sort  of 
ceremony.  Every  restriction  possible  had  been  re- 
moved from  her.  Since  the  first  night  or  two,  her 
chamber  door  had  not  been  locked  ;  she  was  free  to 
stay  alone  all  day,  and  to  go  to  walk  in  the  villa 
when  she  would,  though  always  attended.  They 
said  that  she  was  outside  the  rules.  The  Director 
had  told  her  that  any  time  when  she  wished  to  go  out 
into  the  city  for  a  walk,  or  to  visit  her  friends,  accom- 
panied by  a  maid,  he  would  write  a  pass  for  her.  She 
felt  herself  in  a  sort  of  liberty,  —  as  much  liberty,  in 
fact,  as  could  be  given  to  any  one  in  an  establish- 
ment, where  some  regulations  were  imperative ;  and 
she  had  no  anxiety  for  the  future.  But  she  shud- 
dered at  the  past. 

What,  she  asked  herself,  would  they  have  done  on 
the  day  she  came  there,  if,  when  left  alone  outside 
the  gate,  she  had  had  a  misgiving,  and  gone  away, 
and  tried  to  return  to  her  own  house  ?  She  had  posi- 
tively refused  to  go  to  the  Lungara  asylum,  and  they 
had  dared  to  deceive  her  by  taking  her  to  another 
door  of  the  same  establishment.  They  had  been  bold 
in  everything.  They  had  given  up  her  lease,  which 


314  BY  THE   TIBER. 

they  must  have  searched  her  papers  to  find,  and 
arranged  everything  in  their  own  way,  because  they 
"  thought  it  best."  And  this,  when  they  could  have 
no  smallest  authority  in  her  affairs  except  such  as 
she  gave  them.  She  was  entirely  her  own  mistress, 
and  accountable  to  no  one  in  the  world,  except  to  the 
laws  of  the  land.  No  law  could  have  placed  her  here 
unless  she  had  been  complained  of  to  the  police  as  a 
disturber  of  the  community,  and  dangerous  to  herself 
and  her  neighbors.  They  had  taken  the  law  into 
their  own  hands. 

And  what  would  have  been  done  to  her  if,  on  first 
knowing  what  sort  of  people  she  was  among,  two 
days  after  coming,  she  had  insisted  on  leaving  imme- 
diately ?  If  they  had  refused  to  allow  her  to  go,  or  if 
she  had  been  forced  to  enter  on  the  first  day,  could 
she  have  answered  for  herself  ?  Could  she  be  sure 
that  she  would  not  have  resisted  with  all  her  strength  ? 
Resistance  would  have  been  madness,  and  they  would 
have  used  force.  Nothing  but  her  ignorance  on  the 
first  occasion,  and  her  self-control  and  silence  on  the 
second,  had  saved  her.  Remembering  now  how  ner- 
vous Miss  Pendleton  had  been,  and  how  she  had  hur- 
ried away,  —  peculiarities  which  even  in  her  miserable 
weakness  she  had  observed  at  the  time,  —  she  knew 
that  it  was  meant  that  she  should  enter  and  that  she 
should  stay. 

While  she  sat  there,  Sister  Agnes  came  to  her  with 
a  letter. 

"  Miss  Pendleton  sent  it  to  you  this  morning,"  she 
said.  "  It  was  left  at  your  apartment." 

It  was  a  foreign  letter  written  by  the  editor  of  a 
monthly  magazine,  who  wanted  her  to  write  him  a  se- 
rial, and  would  be  glad  to  have  it  as  soon  as  possible. 

Valeria  smiled.  "  I  wonder  what  he  would  say  if 
he  knew  where  I  am,"  she  said  to  the  sister,  to  whom 
ehe  communicated  the  news. 


MAKING   THE  BEST  OF  IT.  315 

The  Director  and  the  Superior  had  waived  their 
right  of  opening  letters  in  her  case,  and  she  acknowl- 
edged their  politeness  by  translating  the  contents  of 
them  to  the  sister. 

The  little  incident  was  brightening,  and  started  her 
thoughts  on  another  train. 

"  My  house  is  given  up,  and  I  do  not  care  to  go 
among  strangers  just  yet,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  The 
worst  is  over.  I  am  here,  and  wheii  in  my  room  I 
am  very  comfortable.  They  say  that  I  have  been  en- 
tered for  three  months.  There  are  six  weeks  more. 
I  will  make  the  best  of  it,  and  stay  the  rest  of  the 
time.  I  can  write  this  story  here,  and  I  can  study 
the  life  of  an  asylum.  It  is  n't  every  one  who  has 
the  opportunity  to  examine  a  lunatic  asylum  from  the 
inside.  All  is  grist  that  comes  to  my  mill.  We  '11 
live  and  conquer,  Valeria  mia.  And  we  will  take 
good  care  not  to  trust  any  one  too  much  again,  so  long 
as  we  have  breath." 

A  carriage  with  a  bay  horse  and  a  white  one  came 
down  the  avenue,  and  stopped  at  the  steps.  The  back 
part  was  shaped  like  a  great  box,  and  there  was  a 
hood  over  the  driver's  seat.  Two  servant-girls  came 
out  of  the  casino,  and  went  down  to  take  out  large  tin 
boxes  containing  the  dinner.  It  was  cooked  in  the 
great  kitchen  below  in  the  Lungara,  and  brought 
round  in  the  carriage  through  the  villa. 

Valeria  went  up  to  her  room,  and  sat  looking  out 
at  the  pine-trees,  and  at  the  tall  eucalyptus  that 
swung  its  slender  branches  against  the  bars  of  her 
window. 

"  Our  Lord  had  his  Merry  Christmas  in  a  stable," 
she  thought,  and  was  thankful  that  it  was  no  worse. 


316  BY  THE    TIBER. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

UNMASKING. 

VALERIA  began  at  once  upon  her  serial,  —  a 
slight  thing,  since,  at  best,  it  was  impossible  to 
write  well  in  such  a  place.  In  her  own  apartment  all 
was  tranquil,  she  was  perfectly  served  and  kindly 
treated  by  all,  from  highest  to  lowest ;  but  she  could 
not  go  out  without  encountering  the  insane,  and  the 
shock  always  set  her  vibrating.  Th  re  was  ever  that 
terrible  bridge  to  pass  in  going  from  her  own  room  to 
the  villa  ;  and  though  she  might  fly  over  it  like  Tarn 
O'Shanter  from  the  witches,  some  taint  of  that  wild 
company  always  remained  to  spoil  her  first  breath  of 
pure  air,  and  first  moments  before  that  grand  pano- 
rama, or  her  first  hour  in  the  tranquil  privacy  of  her 
own  chamber. 

The  only  employment  in  which  she  could  really 
forget  herself  was  in  studying  the  place  and  the  peo- 
ple. To  look  at  them,  thinking,  This  is  my  home  and 
there  are  my  companions,  was  intolerable ;  but  to 
look  at  them  as  a  new,  strange  book  which  she  was 
to  read,  was  interesting,  though  still  painful 

The  site  of  the  Manicomio  of  Rome  is  one  of  great 
interest,  even  amid  objects  of  such  rich  historical 
value  as  are  everywhere  to  be  found  in  that  incom- 
parable city. 

The  arch  of  San  Spirito,  which,  by  means  of  a  cov- 
ered passage,  connects  the  two  parts  of  the  establish- 
ment on  the  two  sides  of  the  Lungara,  was  built  by 
Pope  Leo  IV.  when  he  built  the  walls  around  the 
Vatican,  enclosing  the  territory  which  was  named, 
after  him,  the  Leonine  City.  It  was  the  principal 
one  of  the  six  gates,  and  was  then  called  the  Porta  di 


UNMASKING.  317 

Borgo.  This  was  about  the  year  850.  Early  in  the 
sixteenth  century  the  Farnese  Pope,  Paul  III.,  when  he 
constructed  the  bastions  of  the  Borgo,  ordered  a  new 
gate  to  be  made  by  Antonio  da  Sangallo.  But  some 
difficulties  put  in  the  way  of  the  artist  by  Michael 
Angelo  retarded  the  work,  and  he  died  before  it  was 
completed.  When,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
Urban  VIII.  removed  the  wall  between  Porta  san  Pan- 
crazio  and  Porta  Cavalleggieri,  in  order  to  include  the 
rest  of  the  Janiculurn  in  the  Leonine  City,  the  name 
of  the  gate  was  changed  from  Porta  di  Borgo  to  Porta 
San  Spirito,  from  the  near  hospital.  It  remained  use- 
less, however,  from  this  time,  as  did  also  the  Porta 
Settimiana. 

The  covered  passage  over  the  gate  of  San  Spirito 
was  made  by  Pius  IX.  when  he  purchased  the  Villa 
Barberini  and  the  Villa  Gabrielli,  farther  back  on  the 
Janiculum,  to  add  to  the  confined  and  gloomy  Asylum 
in  the  Lungara. 

The  Villa  Barberini  was  built  by  Urban  VIII.,  a 
Barberini  from  Florence.  This  Pope,  says  an  Italian 
writer,  united  Florentine  elegance  to  Roman  grandeur, 
and  had  a  particular  liking  for  sumptuous  villas.  As 
pope  he  began  the  magnificent  Barberini  place ;  while 
yet  cardinal,  he  bought  the  Villa  Visconti  at  Castel 
Gandolfo,  and  embellished  it,  and  built  the  Villa  Bar- 
berini, with  both  palace  and  casino,  between  the  Porta 
San  Spirito  and  the  Porta  Cavalleggieri ;  and  after  he 
became  pope,  he  also  built  the  papal  palace  at  Castel 
Gandolfo. 

This  palace  near  St.  Peter's  was  not  only  for  his 
pleasure,  but  also  for  his  convenience  when  there 
should  be  great  functions  at  that  basilica  ;  and  there 
exists  to-day  in  that  locality,  close  to  the  Colonnade,  a 
defaced  and  squalid  palace  used  for  the  manufacture 
of  beer,  which  has  over  the  principal  entrance  the 
arms  of  Urban  VIII.,  the  tiara,  with  the  Barberini 


318  BY  THE    TIBER. 

bees.  The  gardens  extended  back  of  this,  up  the  hill, 
and  contemporary  writers  give  a  glowing  picture  of  its 
groves  and  fountains,  of  the  riches  in  pictures  and 
vases  and  majolica  plates  and  basins  of  both  palace 
and  casino,  and  of  the  superb  views  caught  through 
its  flowering  trees. 

In  building  for  Urban  VIII.  there  were  discovered 
the  ruins  of  elegant  baths,  of  pavements,  and  other 
remains  of  an  ancient  villa  supposed,  from  an  inscrip- 
tion found  there,  to  have  belonged  to  the  poet  Celio, 
of  the  time  of  Augustus.  This  house  in  which  we 
find  Valeria  was  the  casino  built  by  Urban  VIII.  ;  and 
in  the  excavations  under  her  window  looking  toward 
St.  Peter's,  were  found  some  of  the  same  ancient 
ruins  discovered  in  his  time. 

The  site  of  the  palace  near  St.  Peter's  was  the  same 
as  that  of  the  palace  of  Nero  (palatiolum},  from  which 
it  is  said  that  the  emperor  beheld  the  sufferings  of  the 
Christian  martyrs  in  the  Circo  di  Cayo,  opposite  his 
windows,  in  what  is  now  the  piazza  of  St.  Peter's. 

The  casino  of  the  villa,  when  Valeria  first  went 
there,  had  the  arms  of  Urban  VIII.  painted  on  the 
ceilings  of  the  anteroom  and  the  long  drawing-room ; 
but  they  were  afterward  painted  over,  in  repairing  the 
house.  Outside,  along  the  cornice  under  the  roof,  are 
the  Barberini  bees  carved  in  stone. 

The  bastions  of  Paul  III.  were  strengthened  by 
Urban  VIII. ;  and  one  glance  at  those  dark  precipices 
of  stone-work  will  show  what  a  formidable  fortress 
the  P>arberini  family  had  when  the  death  of  the  Pope 
left  Rome  in  that  lawless  state  which  used  to  prevail 
during  an  interregnum,  and  when  the  jealousy  which 
their  prosperity  of  more  than  twenty  years'  duration 
had  excited,  if  not  resentment  for  any  wrongs  which 
they  might  have  committed,  had  opportunity  for 
revenge. 

It  is  now  about  fifteen  years  since  Pius  IX.  bought 


UNMASKING.  319 

the  villas  Barberini  and  Gabrielli,  and  built  the  pas- 
sage over  the  gate  of  San  Spirito,  thus  making,  per- 
haps, the  largest  establishment  of  the  kind  in  the 
world. 

The  casino  of  Villa  Gabrielli,  and  two  new  buildings 
in  the  grounds,  are  assigned  to  the  men,  and  Villa 
Barberini,  with  the  buildings  attached  to  it,  to  the 
women ;  and  there  are  also  separate  quarters  for  men 
and  women  in  the  lower  buildings.  There  are  three 
classes  in  each,  and  the  most  excellent  order  is  pre- 
served. 

Some  amusement  is  provided  for  all  the  classes.  A 
band  has  been  organized  among  the  men,  who  some- 
times go  down  to  play  to  the  third  class  in  the  Lungara; 
a  piano  recital  is  given  to  the  ladies  of  the  casino 
twice  a  week,  and  the  Deputy  in  charge  gives  them 
all  occasionally  a  festa,  especially  in  Carnival  time. 
Besides  this,  walking  in  the  villa  grounds  is  encour- 
aged ;  and  these  grounds  are  free  to  all  classes,  though 
no  person  can  walk  out  without  an  attendant.  Three 
times  a  week  a  carriage  comes  to  take  the  ladies  of 
the  casino  out  for  a  drive  in  the  city  and  environs. 
Formerly  there  was  a  livery ;  but  they  have  had  the 
good  taste  to  lay  it  aside  for  the  carriage.  It  is  worn 
now  only  by  the  porters  and  male  nurses. 

Those  of  the  third  class  who  can  be  trusted  to  work 
are  employed.  The  women  wash,  iron,  weave  in  the 
Tessenda,  and  even  do  housework ;  the  men  work  in 
the  gardens,  and  perform  various  services  about  the 
place.  The  sum  paid  for  their  keeping  is  very  small, 
only  fifty  lire  (about  ten  dollars)  a  month',  and  no 
remuneration  is  therefore  made  them  for  their  labor, 
except  some  little  indulgence,  perhaps  an  extra  dish 
at  table. 

The  Medical  Staff  is  admirably  arranged.  It  con- 
sists of  a  Medical  Director,  and  four  regular  assistants, 
two  for  the  men,  and  two  for  the  women.  These  four 


320  BY  THE    TIBER. 

make  their  visits  every  day,  and  oftener  if  necessary. 
Of  these  two  couples,  one  of  each  is  fixed,  the  other 
attends  alternate  three  months  on  the  men  and  the 
women.  This  alternation  lasts  two  years,  when,  if  the 
physician  has  not  a  fixed  appointment,  he  retires,  leav- 
ing his  name  on  the  books  for  a  vacancy.  No  one 
receives  an  appointment  who  has  not  served  two  years 
in  alternate  attendance  on  both  men  and  women. 
Besides  the  list  of  those  who  have  thus  received  their 
diploma,  there  is  another  list  of  candidates  for  their 
vacant  places. 

The  highest  officer  is  a  Deputy  appointed  by  the 
government.  He  is  not  a  resident ;  but  the  present 
Deputy  (Tommasini)  is  a  daily  visitor,  who  may  come 
in  at  any  hour,  and  takes  pains  to  drop  in  when  least 
expected,  keeping  a  strict  watch  over  everything, 
severe  if  he  detects  the  slightest  neglect  of  duty,  but 
kind  and  very  much  beloved  by  the  patients. 

But  what  interested  Valeria  more  than  the  mere 
magnitude  and  direction  of  this  great  establishment 
was  the  patients  themselves.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
this  kindness  in  the  treatment  of  the  insane  was  but 
one  step,  though  a  great  one,  out  of  the  barbarism  of 
the  past  in  Europe  and  America,  and  that  the  time 
might  come  when  humanity  and  charity  would  find 
some  means  of  curing  those  diseased  minds  in  which 
the  disease  is  not  a  temporary  effect  of  physical  illness. 
All  that  can  be  done  for  health  and  bodily  comfort, 
and  to  keep  the  patient  tranquil  and  cheerful,  is  done 
in  this  Manicomio  ;  but  there  is  no  time  for  psycho- 
logical experiments,  even  if  there  were  persons  edu- 
cated to  make  them.  Nature  must  first  make  such 
nurses,  —  for  it  is  the  nurse's  work,  not  the  doctor's,  — 
and  grace  must  confirm  them.  The  nurse  is  a  far 
more  important  person  in  a  lunatic  asylum  than  the 
doctor,  and  should  never  be  a  vulgar  and  coarse  per- 
son, and  never  an  excitable  one. 


UNMASKING.  321 

It  is  said  that  an  insane  person  thinks  every  one 
about  him  insane;  and  it  is  no  wonder;  for  the  manner 
in  which  people  usually  treat  an  insane  person  would 
be  insanity  it'  addressed  to  a  sane  one.  The  patient, 
not  believing  himself  insane,  perceives  this  strange- 
ness. The  vague  and  careless  answer,  the  evasions, 
the  promises  made  in  order  to  soothe  and  never  meant 
to  be  fulfilled,  the  utter  absence  of  any  appeal  to  the 
reason,  the  disregard  of  reiterated  prayers  and  re- 
quests, —  all  these  are  frequently  unnecessary  and 
injurious.  Few  or  none  of  the  insane  are  altogether 
insane,  and  they  are  capable  of  telling  the  truth. 
Their  complaints  may  not  be  reasonable,  but  they 
may  be  a  distorted  image  of  a  real  grievance,  and 
should  sometimes  receive  attention.  All  of  them  think 
that  they  are  the  victims  of  a  great  wrong ;  but  that 
is  no  proof  that  there  may  not  be  such  a  victim  while 
the  laws  regarding  their  committal  are  so  criminally 
negligent.  No  murderer  is  condemned  unheard,  no 
vilest  criminal  is  executed  privately  without  a  warn- 
ing. But  the  unfortunate  who  is  insane,  or  supposed 
to  be,  is  hidden  away  without  defence.  If  he  is  seen, 
afterwards  arid  talked  with,  there  is  ever  between  him 
and  the  spectator  the  wall  of  his  supposed  or  real  in- 
sanity. He  talks  reasonably  ?  What  of  that  ?  They 
all  talk  reasonably  sometimes.  He  wants  to  go  away  ? 
They  all  want  to  go  away.  He  says  that  there  is  a 
plot  against  him  ?  It  is  the  old  story.  He  begs  you 
to  have  his  case  investigated,  or  to  take  a  letter  out 
for  him  ?  They  all  want  justice,  and  to  send  out 
letters.  It  is  not  permitted  to  send  letters  out.  In 
short,  there  is  nothing  that  the  victim  of  a  plot  can  do 
that  an  insane  person  has  not  already  done. 

There  should  be  a  jury  for  the  insane  as  well  as  for 
the  sane.  It  should  be  remembered  that  they  are  un- 
fortunate, not  wicked,  and  that  their  incarceration  is 
more  terrible  in  itself  and  in  its  effects  than  that  of 


322  BY  THE    TIBER. 

any  criminal.  They  should  be  visited  and  asked  to 
say  why  condemnation  of  worse  than  death  should 
not  be  passed  upon  them.  Nor  is  some  agitation  any 
proof  against  them.  Their  situation  would  naturally 
produce  it.  If  undeserved,  no  horror  could  be  greater, 
no  insult  more  unpardonable. 

Valeria  found  one  exception  to  this  rule  of  victims 
in  an  old  man  of  the  third  class,  who  helped  to  bring 
up  the  supper  through  the  bridge.  For  the  carriage 
came  only  with  the  dinner. 

She  was  seated  in  a  great  swing  in  one  of  the  little 
flowery  terraces  as  he  came  up.  The  gardener  had 
given  her  a  beautiful  cane,  cutting  the  dry  leaves 
from  the  glistening  yellow  stalk,  and  leaving  a  faint 
ring  of  green  above  each  knot,  and  she  was  dreamily 
pushing  herself  to  and  fro  with  it,  and  reading  a  news- 
paper, when  she  saw  this  old  man  looking  through 
the  fence  at  her. 

"Well?  "she  said. 

He  pulled  off  his  cap. 

"  How  do  you  do  ? "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.     "  I  'm  crazy,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  she  replied.  "  If  you  were  crazy,  you 
would  n't  know  it." 

"  Yes ;  I  am  crazy,"  he  persisted  mournfully.  "  I 
can't  remember  anything  but  the  Ave  Maria.  I  can 
say  that ;  but  I  can't  think.  I  don't  know  anything. 
I  had  a  sickness,  and  I  am  crazy." 

"  He  is  saner  than  I  am,"  she  thought  with  a  smile. 
"  For  if  I  am  queer,  I  do  not  know  it." 

A  month  wore  away,  and  Valeria  began  to  think  of 
finding  an  apartment  for  herself;  and  one  day  when 
she  was  out  driving  with  the  nurse,  she  glanced  at  the 
houses  where  there  were  notices  of  rooms  to  let. 

"  I  am  searching  for  an  apartment,"  she  remarked. 
"  If  I  find  a  place  that  seems  pleasant,  I  shall  go  in 
and  see  it." 


UNMASKING.  323 

Nothing  more  was  said. 

They  returned  to  the  Manicomio,  supper  was 
brought  up,  and  at  her  usual  hour  she  went  to 
bed. 

A  few  minutes  after,  just  as  she  was  dropping 
asleep,  she  seemed  to  hear  some  one  lock  the  door  on 
the  outside. 

The  sound  was  rather  in  her  heart  than  in  her  ears. 
But  it  was  impossible  to  sleep  with  that  doubt,  and 
she  rose  to  reassure  herself. 

The  door  was  locked  on  the  outside. 

Can  the  reader  imagine  how  terrible  this  might  be  ? 
It  was  not  the  mere  locking  of  the  door,  which  could 
not  well  be  more,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  than  ah 
inconvenience ;  as,  except  in  case  of  sickness  or  fire, 
she  would  not  wish  to  leave  her  chamber  in  the  night. 
The  terror  was  in  the  reason  for  locking  it.  It  meant 
that  now,  after  having  had  full  liberty  for  weeks,  she 
was  an  object  of  suspicion,  and  that  something  had 
occurred  to  make  them  curtail  that  liberty.  And  this 
might  be  only  a  beginning.  She  had  seen  how  utterly 
worthless  are  the  judgments  of  most  people  when  it 
is  a  question  of  one  charged  with  a  mania,  or  a  slight 
aberration  of  mind ;  and  for  the  first  time  since  she 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  finding  herself  in  an  asy- 
lum, she  realized  how  unsafe  it  was  for  her  to  be 
there. 

She  thought  over  all  the  incidents  of  the  day,  and 
tried  to  discover  what  she  might  have  done  that  could 
seem  strange.  It  was  her  habit,  while  writing,  to 
rise  and  walk  to  and  fro,  now  and  then,  to  relieve  the 
fatigue  of  long  sitting,  and  sometimes,  while  walking, 
she  read  or  repeated  a  page  that  she  had  written. 

The  Donna  Claudia  and  the  Donna  Faustina  walked 
to  and  fro  declaiming.  Had  they  put  her  in  the  same 
category  ? 

Then,  in  the  garden  that  day,  she  had  pointed  out 


324  BY  THE   TIBER. 

the  variety  of  clouds,  —  for  a  storm  was  passing  off, 
and  settled  fine  weather  coming  in,  —  and  had  told 
the  names  of  the  different  classes  of  vapors. 

The  nurses  might  think  that  only  an  insane  person 
would  dream  of  naming  the  clouds. 

At  last  she  recollected  what  she  had  said  to  Fidelia 
about  the  apartment  she  was  looking  for.  Nothing 
seemed  so  likely  as  that  to  be  the  cause  of  tbis  strange 
precaution.  She  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to 
speak  to  any  one  of  her  intention,  meaning  to  seek  an 
early  opportunity  to  talk  with  the  Medical  Director 
about  it. 

No  sleep  visited  her  eyes  that  night.  She  had  not 
slept  when  she  heard  the  nurse  who  made  her  rounds 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  approaching  her  room. 
The  girl  unlocked  the  door  and  entered. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  my  door  having  been 
locked  last  night  ?  "  Valeria  demanded,  the  moment 
she  entered. 

The  girl  professed  to  know  nothing  about  it.  She 
had  come  to  the  door  in  the  evening,  she  said,  and 
found  it  locked.  Perhaps  it  was  done  by  mistake. 

"  It  is  a  very  strange  mistake,"  Valeria  said,  "  and 
I  hope  it  will  not  be  made  again.  I  am  out  of  every- 
body's hearing,  and  I  might  have  been  sick  in  the 
night.  I  consider  it  a  very  strange  proceeding." 

The  girl  was  as  simply  ignorant  as  only  a  well- 
trained  Italian  servant  can  be. 

Later  came  Sister  Agnes,  with  a  glass  of  milk  that 
she  always  brought  in  the  morning.  Valeria  put 
the  same  question  to  her,  and  she  made  the  same 
reply.  She  thought  that  the  door  was  locked  by 
mistake. 

Valeria  repeated  what  she  had  already  said  to  the 
nurse. 

"  And  do  you  think,  Sister  Agnes,  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  lock  my  door  ? "  she  asked. 


UNMASKING.  325 

"  Certainly  not !  And  you  know  that  it  has  never 
been  done  before,"  the  sister  replied. 

Later  in  the  day  Valeria  had  a  visit  from  a  monk, 
a  man  as  honest  and  simple  as  he  was  learned,  and 
whom  she  had  known  ever  since  she  came  to  Home. 

"How  did  you  find  the  signora  to-day?"  Sister 
Agnes  asked  him,  when  Valeria  had  left  the  two  to- 
gether a  moment. 

"Just  as  I  have  always  found  her  ever  since  I  first 
knew  her,"  he  said.  "  I  see  no  difference  in  her." 

"She  was  excited  this  morning,"  the  sister  re- 
marked. 

When  Valeria  was  again  with  Don  Giorgio,  walk- 
ing in  the  garden,  he  repeated  to  her  what  the  sister 
had  said,  and  she  explained  the  reason  of  her  ex- 
citement, or  more  literally,  her  disquiet ;  for  the  nun 
had  said  inquietata. 

"  Do  you  wonder  at  it  ? "  she  asked.  "  And  I  was 
no  more  disturbed  than  any  other  person  would  have 
been  in  the  circumstances.  You  see,  Don  Giorgio, 
that,  once  a  person  is  in  a  place  like  this,  the  simplest 
things  they  may  do  are  suspected.  I  have  seen  both 
Sister  Agnes  and  the  doctor  more  angry  than  I  was 
this  morning,  and  for  a  less  cause  ;  and  I  don't  mean 
to  blame  them  in  saying  it.  The  only  difference 
is  that  they  can  resent  annoyances,  and  I  cannot. 
You  have  been  very  good  in  telling  me  this,  but  do 
not  you  see  that  an  unfriendly  or  even  a  stupid 
person  might  have  made  a  great  deal  out  of  it  to  do 
me  harm?  Oh,  I  am  not  safe  here!  There  could 
grow  up  about  me  a  cloud  of  nothings  just  like  this, 
which  would  be  enough  to  ruin  me  in  the  end." 

Later  in  the  day  Valeria  asked  to  see  the  Director. 
He  had  always  been  very  kind  to  her,  and  she  had  a 
great  respect  for  him. 

"  In  what  can  I  serve  you,  Madamigella  ? "  he  asked 
pleasantly,  drawing  a  chair  near  hers. 


326  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  The  three  months  for  which  I  was  entered  here 
will  soon  expire,  Signor  Cavaliere,"  she  said ;  "  and  I 
would  like  to  go  away." 

"  You  would  like  to  go  away  ? "  he  repeated. 

"  Can  you  wonder  at  that  ?  Of  course  I  have  been 
taken  excellent  care  of,  and  you  have  all  been  very 
kind.  I  am  grateful  for  that,  but  —  " 

"  I  understand,"  he  interrupted.  "  Of  course  it  is 
not  the  place  for  you.  Only,  as  it  is  now  mid- 
winter, and  you  have  twice  had  congestion  of  the 
lungs,  you  must  be  very  careful.  Where  do  you  pro- 
pose to  go  ? " 

She  told  him  her  plans. 

"  I  would  not  advise  you  to  do  so,"  the  Director 
said.  "  You  could  never  be  sure  that  a  private  family 
would  suit  you.  I  would  counsel  you  to  go  among 
foreigners  whose  customs  and  ways  would  be  the 
same  as  your  own.  I  know  a  pleasant  French  pension 
here,  where  you  might  be  comfortable.  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  the  family  who  keep  the  house,  and 
with  several  of  the  inmates  of  the  house.  I  will 
speak  to  Madame  L.  about  it  to-day.  I  am  going 
there.  Shall  I  do  so  ? " 

Valeria  scarcely  liked  a  boarding-house;  but  she 
liked  still  less  to  slight  the  advice  of  one  whose 
judgment  she  had  reason  to  rely  on ;  and  she  con- 
sented. 

"  Miss  Pendleton  will  have  to  come  to  see  me,"  the 
Director  proceeded.  "As  she  consigned  you  here,  it  is 
necessary  that  she  should  receive  you." 

"  Must  I  have  any  ceremony  in  order  to  go  out  ? " 
exclaimed  Valeria. 

"There  are  rules,"  the  Director  said  gently,  "and  no 
matter  what  the  state  of  the  person  may  be,  the  rules 
must  be  observed.  Some  one  must  receive  the  person 
going  out,  and  be  responsible  for  her  support,  and  that 
she  is  placed  in  a  proper  home." 


UNMASKING.  327 

"  But  it  is  a  mere  form  in  my  case.  I  support  my- 
self, and  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"It  is,  however,  a  form  which  we  cannot  omit," 
was  the  reply. 

"  And,"  he  added,  "  I  have  another  counsel  to  give 
you,  if  you  permit  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have 
had  too  many  acquaintances.  It  would  be  better  for 
you  to  know  but  few  persons,  and  those,  friends  on 
whom  you  can  rely." 

"Why,  Signer  Cavaliere,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  have 
lived  the  life  of  a  hermit  in  Rome.  I  do  not  know 
twenty  persons.  If  I  had  had  a  large  circle  of  ac- 
qaintances,  I  should  never  have  been  brought  here. 
Some  one  would  have  prevented  it." 

He  regarded  her  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "A  great 
many  persons  interest  themselves  in  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  interest  myself  in  them,"  Valeria  replied, 
beginning  to  feel  uneasy. 

"  What  could  he  have  meant  ? "  she  thought  when 
he  had  gone.  "  Why  did  n't  I  ask  him  ?  But  he 
would  n't  have  told  me,  probably.  No  matter ;  let  it 
go.  I  can't  stop  to  worry  over  every  shadow."  And 
she  put  the  subject  out  of  her  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  came  again. 

"Madame  L.  has  some  vacant  rooms,"  he  said,  "and 
will  show  them  to  you  when  you  go.  Let  me  know 
when  you  wish  to  see  them,  and  I  will  write  the 
pass  for  you.  Would  you  like  to  go  to-morrow  ? " 

"  If  you  please;  and  a  thousand  thanks!" 

The  next  morning,  the  pass  was  sent  up  to  her.  It 
was  impossible  to  go  out  without  one,  no  matter  how 
well  she  might  be.  It  was  one  of  the  forms  which 
could  not  be  dispensed  with  as  long  as  a  person  had 
not  been  regularly  discharged  from  the  Manicomio; 
and  it  gave  her  but  little  trouble,  as  she  seldom  wished 
to  go  out. 

Her  first  visit  that  day  was  to  Mrs.  Harwood,  who 


328  BY  THE    TIBER. 

met  her  with  the  utmost  cordiality.  But  when  Vale- 
ria told  her  plans,  she  observed  that  her  listener's 
face  clouded  over.  But  no  comment  or  opposition  was 
made,  and  though  a  little  disappointed,  she  took  her 
leave  without  any  suspicion. 

From  Mrs.  Harwood  she  went  to  the  convent  where 
Miss  Pendleton  boarded,  and  was  received  with  open 
arms.  Miss  Pendleton  was  all  "  my  dears,"  and 
smiles.  But  again,  when  she  mentioned  what  she 
was  about  to  do,  the  smiles  died  away. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do,"  Miss  Pendleton 
said,  with  the  air  of  a  person  who  contemplates  an 
immense  difficulty.  "  I  will  see.  Perhaps  we  can  get 
you  a  place  somewhere." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  '  somewhere,' "  Valeria  said. 
"  I  am  going  to  Madame  L.'s.  So  you  need  not  give 
yourself  the  slightest  trouble  about  the  matter.  I 
will  see  to  all  that  myself.  But  the  Director  says 
that,  as  you  consigned  me  there,  you  will  have  to 
receive  me;  and  he  would  like  to  see  you.  I  am 
annoyed  at  being  in  a  place  where  it  requires  so  much 
ceremony  for  me  to  get  out." 

It  was  her  first  intimation  of  displeasure  at  having 
been  taken  to  the  Manicomio,  and  was  uttered  in  a 
tone  to  show  her  displeasure.  It  seemed  to  her  that, 
after  more  than  two  months  of  silence  regarding  an 
act  which  looked  to  her  every  day  more  high-handed 
and  outrageous,  they  should  make  haste  to  liberate 
her  the  moment  she  asked  for  liberty. 

"  I  thought  that  you  would  like  to  stay  there  till 
spring,  and  then  go  to  America,"  Miss  Pendleton  said. 

"  I  may  or  may  not  go  to  America ;  but  I  do 
not  wish  to  remain  in  a  lunatic  asylum  till  next 
spring,"  Valeria  replied.  "It  is  an  insult  to  me  to 
propose  it." 

"  But  they  don't  call  it  a  lunatic  asylum  here," 
said  Miss  Peudleton.  "  They  call  it  a  casa  di  salute." 


UNMASKING.  329 

**  They  call  it  a  casa  di  salute  when  they  want  to 
coax  persons  into  it,  and  a  casa  dei  pazzi  when  they 
have  got  them  in.  You  're  '  a  little  nervous  '  when 
you  consent  to  go,  and  '  mad '  when  you  are  shut  up. 
But  the  name  makes  no  difference.  It  is  a  lunatic 
asylum,  inhabited  by  mad  people,  and  it  is  an  insult 
to  expect  me  to  stay  there.  To  think  that  I  cannot 
step  into  the  street  without  a  written  pass !' 

"  We  are  none  of  us  free,"  Miss  Pendleton  said. 
"  I  cannot  always  go  out  when  I  like,  and  we  have 
all  of  us  some  restraints.  Try  to  be  patient." 

"  There  is  no  comparison  ! "  said  Valeria  indig- 
nantly. "  I  am  not  quite  free,  even  when  I  have  my 
liberty,  any  more  than  you.  It  is  absurd  to  compare 
the  restraints  of  a  lunatic  asylum  to  the  ordinary 
restraints  of  life." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Madame  de  la  Roche. 

Valeria  rose  to  meet  her,  and  asked  permission  to 
kiss  her. 

"  De  tout  mon  cceur ! "  said  Madame,  embracing 
her. 

"  Don't  let 's  say  anything  to  her  of  what  we  have 
been  saying,"  Miss  Pendleton  murmured  hastily. 

Madame  was  very  deaf,  and  heard  nothing ;  and 
Valeria  went  away  without  having  mentioned  the 
subject  to  her,  though  she  wished  to  do  so. 

"You  have  seen  Miss  Pendleton?"  the  Director 
asked  when  she  entered. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  think  that  she  will  come  to  talk  with 
you  soon.  We  were  interrupted.  I  was  too  late  to 
go  to  Madame  L.  afterward,  for  it  would  have  been 
the  hour  of  their  luncheon,  and  our  dinner.  But  I 
would  like  to  go  to-morrow,  if  you  please." 

"  Certainly  ! "  he  replied.  "  I  have  given  orders  that 
you  are  to  be  free  to  do  whatever  you  please.  You 
can  go  out  when  you  like." 


330  BY  THE    TIBER. 

The  next  day  was  rainy  in  the  morning,  and 
Valeria  did  not  go  out.  The  second  day  was  Sunday, 
and  in  the  afternoon  Miss  Pendleton  came  to  see 
her. 

Valeria  received  her  cordially,  believing  that  she 
had  come  thus  promptly  to  see  the  Director. 

But  Miss  Pendleton  did  not  mention  it,  and  seemed 
in  a  hurry  to  go  away.  Her  usimlly  sweet  and  smil- 
ing manner  was  quite  changed.  She  sat  at  some 
distance  from  Valeria,  in  a  chair  close  to  the  door. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Director  ? "  Valeria  asked 
at  length,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  her  visitor  to 
mention  the  subject  which  alone  could  now  interest 
her. 

"  No,"  was  the  hesitating  reply ;  "  he  had  gone 
away." 

Valeria  was  silent. 

"  It  will  soon  be  time  to  pay  for  yon  again  here," 
Miss  Pendleton  said.  "You  know  it  must  be  paid 
three  mouths  in  advance." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  be  paid  for  again,"  Valeria 
exclaimed  in  astonishment.  "  I  have  already  told  you 
that  I  am  going  to  leave  this  place  on  the  eighteenth 
of  next  month.  I  shall  have  stayed  too  long  in  stay- 
ing three  months." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  for  money  ?  "  Miss  Pendle- 
ton said,  rising,  and  showing  a  slight  anger. 

"  The  same  money  that  pays  for  me  here  will  pay 
in  another  place,"  Valeria  said.  "  I  have  drawn  for 
money,  and  never  received  it,  though  the  draft  was 
given  almost  six  months  ago.  I  shall  have  money 
now  every  month  from  my  serial.  And  there  is  my 
new  book.  I  shall  have  enough  after  a  while." 

"You  haven't  any  now,"  Miss  Pendleton  said,  with 
a  shade  of  insolence,  and  that  little  vindictive  tight- 
ening of  the  lips  which,  through  all  her  smiles,  Vale- 
ria had  always  felt  was  possible  to  them.  "  And  you 


UNMASKING.  331 

can  do  nothing  without  money."  She  opened  the 
door.  "  I  must  go.  It  is  late,"  she  said,  and  went 
out  into  the  corridor. 

Valeria  followed  her,  smitten  with  a  sudden  trem- 
bling and  terror.  "  I  am  sorry  that  I  left  my  house ! " 
she  exclaimed.  "I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  trusted 
myself  in  your  hands." 

Miss  Pendleton  went  down-stairs,  and  Valeria  fol- 
lowed her,  and  stopped  her  in  the  anteroom,  which 
was  vacant. 

"  You  must  go  to  the  Director  and  liberate  me,  as 
you  put  me  into  his  hands,"  she  said.  "  You  are  too 
bold  to  treat  me  so.  I  will  not  stay  here  after  the 
three  months  are  out." 

"You  cannot  go  out  without  money,"  Miss  Pendle- 
ton said.  "  If  you  stay  here,  everything  will  be  done 
for  you  ;  if  you  go  out,  nothing  will  be  done  for  you." 
And  her  face  showed  that  if  Valeria  went  out  every- 
thing would  be  done  against  her. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  have  anything  done  for  me ! " 
Valeria  exclaimed.  "  There  has  been  too  much  done 
already.  I  have  been  betrayed.  I  should  have  got 
well  in  my  own  house.  I  was  able  to  walk  out  the 
second  day  after  I  came  here." 

"  You  were  sick  a  month  here/'  Miss  Pendleton 
retorted. 

"  I  was  sick  three  weeks  ;  but  I  took  the  sickness 
here." 

"  No,  you  did  n't ! "  exclaimed  the  other  rudely. 

"  I  did ;  and  they  all  know  it.  Besides,  that 
makes  no  difference.  I  am  well  now,  and  I  want 
rny  liberty." 

Miss  Pendleton's  mask  of  smiles  and  sweet  speeches 
was  quite  off  now,  and  the  vulgar,  cruel  woman  stood 
revealed. 

"  You  are  not  well ! "  she  cried  out.  "  Your  head 
is  n't  right." 


332  BY  THE   TIBER. 

Valeria  recoiled.  It  was  not  possible  to  answer  in 
words  to  such  brutality.  Helpless,  terrified,  insulted, 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  can  stay  here  till  spring,  and  then  go  to 
America,"  Miss  Pendleton  added,  seeming  to  think 
that  she  had  conquered. 

"  Who  are  you,  to  tell  me  when  I  shall  come  and 
go?"  Valeria  replied,  sobbing,  yet  fired  with  anger. 
"  I  will  appeal  to  the  American  Consul  for  protec- 
tion." 

"  You  may  appeal  to  him,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  I  certainly  shall. 

The  other  looked  at  her  with  a  taunting  smile. 
"  Where  will  you  go  ? " 

"  I  will  go  into  the  street  sooner  than  be  shut  up 
here  ! "  Valeria  cried  with  imprudent  heat 

Miss  Peudleton  burst  into  laughter. 

Sister  Agnes  appeared,  and  Miss  Pendleton  hurried 
away. 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  trust  her  ?  Wrhy  did  I  put  myself 
into  her  power  ?  "  cried  Valeria,  while  the  sister  was 
trying  to  soothe  her.  "  I  had  an  impression  from  the 
very  first  that  there  was  something  hard  and  strange 
hidden  under  her  affected  sweetness.  It  was  n't  nat- 
ural. She  has  betrayed  me.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

The  confident  insolence  of  her  enemy  showed  a 
consciousness  of  strength.  She  would  never  have 
dared  to  be  so  brutal  if  she  had  not  an  assurance  of 
support.  Yet  what  that  support  was,  Valeria  had  no 
conception.  She  could  understand  nothing.  All  was 
confusion. 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  333 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DE   PROFUNDIS. 

THE  morning  found  Valeria  calmer ;  for  all  were 
so  kind,  and  so  much  displeased  at  the  insult  that 
had  been  offered  her,  that  she  could  not  but  be  com- 
forted. "  She  should  not  have  addressed  even  an  in- 
sane person  so,"  Sister  Agnes  said,  in  commenting  on 
Miss  Pendleton's  conduct. 

The  Director  came  up,  and  ordered  that  Valeria 
should  not  see  her  again. 

"  I  do  not  wish  ever  to  see  her  again,"  she  replied. 
"  I  will  not  willingly  ever  glance  at  her,  even.  But 
suppose  that  she  should  come  ? " 

"  Excuse  yourself,"  answered  the  Director.  He  was 
walking  to  and  fro  in  the  sala,  talking  with  Valeria 
and  Sister  Agnes,  and  he  was  angry. 

"  You  do  not  know  her  if  you  think  that  an  excuse 
will  answer,  if  she  should  wish  to  come  in.  She  would 
walk  into  my  room  in  spite  of  me.  And  you  know 
there  is  no  lock  inside  the  door." 

"  Tell  her,  if  she  comes,  that  I  forbid  her  seeing 
Madamigella,"  he  said  to  Sister  Agnes.  "  I  will  not 
allow  it,  mind  !  " 

He  then  went,  advising  Valeria  to  go  out  for  a  walk 
into  the  city. 

But  she  was  in  no  mood  to  go  out,  and  preferred  to 
walk  in  the  villa  with  Sister  Agnes. 

They  went  up  the  avenue  to  the  excavations,  and 
found  the  Deputy  there,  looking  at  some  new  baths 
that  had  just  been  uncovered.  He  explained  the  ruins 
to  them,  and  gave  Valeria  permission  to  take  away 
some  records  of  the  place.  There  were  fragments  of 
beautiful  pillars  in  porta-santa  and  white  marble,  a 


334  BY  THE    TIBER. 

great  deal  of  cipolline,  and  numerous  fragments  of 
sculpture,  earthen  vessels,  beautiful  opaline  glass  and 
serpentine,  alabasters  of  different  sorts,  giallo-antico 
and  rosso-autico. 

From  there,  they  went  round  to  a  knoll  called  the 
monticello,  in  the  corner  of  the  villa  nearest  St.  Peter's. 
Here  a  grove  of  shrubs  shielded  the  back  of  a  bench, 
aud  an  olive-tree  strewed  its  black  berries  over  the 
ground.  From  this  spot  they  looked  down  into  the 
piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  which  was  scarce  more  than  a 
stone's-throw  from  them,  and  off  up  the  Tiber  and 
across  the  fields  to  Ponte  Molle,  and  the  country,  and 
the  beautiful  mountains  beyond.  A  little  to  the  right 
lay  the  Castel  Sant'  Angelo,  with  all  the  city  rolling 
away  southward.  It  is  one  of  the  few  supreme  views 
of  Rome. 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  bench,  and  looked 
about  awhile,  then  walked  silently  back  to  the  casino, 
and  Valeria  went  up  to  her  chamber  and  her  writing, 
and  tried  to  forget  her  troubles  in  her  heroine,  and  to 
call  up  scenes  of  New  England  to  blot  these  scenes  of 
old  Rome  from  her  mind.  The  next  day  would  be 
soon  enough  to  go  to  look  at  Madame  L.'s  rooms.  She 
thought  it  probable  that  Miss  Pendleton  would  come 
to  see  the  Director  that  day. 

She  did  not  come,  however,  and  the  next  morning 
Valeria  prepared  herself  to  go  out  into  the  city,  and 
sent  one  of  the  nurses  down  for  her  pass. 

"  Make  haste,"  she  said  ;  "  for  I  want  to  go  early. 
I  don't  know  that  a  pass  is  necessary  now,  for  the 
Director  said  that  I  was  to  do  as  I  please ;  but  it  is 
better  to  have  one,  in  case  the  porter  should  make  a 
difficulty." 

She  dressed  and  went  down,  waiting  for  the  nurse 
in  one  of  the  lower  gardens.  Presently  the  girl  ap- 

red. 
The  Director  says  that  you  cannot  go  out,"  she  said. 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  335 

"  Impossible  !  "  Valeria  exclaimed. 

"  The  Sister  Agnes  told  me  so,"  said  the  girl.  "  She 
asked  the  Director  herself,  and  he  said  that  you  cannot 
go  out." 

"  I  will  not  believe  it  unless  he  tells  me  so  himself. 
Go  and  find  Sister  Agnes,  and  tell  her  I  want  her  to 
go  to  the  Director  with  me." 

"  Sister  Agnes  is  in  the  Community." 

"  Come  with  me  yourself,  then,"  Valeria  said  ;  and 
the  girl,  though  unwilling,  accompanied  her  over  the 
arch  of  San  Spirito,  down  stairs  and  through  passages, 
to  where,  near  the  Lungara  door  of  the  Manicomio,  the 
Director's  offices  were. 

"  The  Director  is  not  in,  but  will  return  in  fifteen 
minutes,"  the  porter  told  her.  "  If  you  will  wait  in- 
side there,  I  will  call  you  when  he  comes." 

Fifteen  minutes  passed  by,  and  she  was  not  called. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  have  forgotten  me.  I  had  better 
go  out  into  the  passage,"  she  said,  going  toward  the 
great  prison-like  door  that  shut  in  the  third-class 
patients. 

"  You  cannot  pass,  signora,"  said  the  portress,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  the  lock. 

It  was  useless  to  contend.  With  what  patience  she 
could,  she  seated  herself  again. 

Another  fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  then  the  Lady 
Superior  appeared.  She  was  very  grave  and  silent. 
"  Come  with  me,  Mademoiselle,"  she  said ;  and,  tak- 
ing Valeria  by  the  hand,  led  her  out  to  the  Director's 
office.  "Wait  here  till  he  comes,"  she  added,  and 
left  her  without  another  word. 

Presently  the  Director  appeared. 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ? "  he  exclaimed. 

"  The  Superior  brought  me ;  and  I  want  to  know 
what  all  this  change  means,"  Valeria  said.  "Some- 
thing strange  has  happened." 

He  went  to  his  desk,  aiid  stood  there  a  moment 


336  BY  THE    TIBER. 

frowning,  and  turning  over  his  papers.  "  I  have  had 
a  letter  from  the  American  Consul,"  he  said,  flinging 
out  a  letter  from  the  others. 

Valeria,  who  had  risen  and  followed  him,  stood  at 
the  other  side  of  the  desk.  "  Well  ?  " 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  "  He  writes  complain- 
ing that  I  let  you  go  out  about  the  city,  and  orders 
that  you  shall  be  kept  confined  inside  the  walls." 

Valeria  uttered  a  cry,  and  clung  to  the  desk  for 
support. 

"  You  see  that  I  could  not  let  you  go,"  the  Director 
said  kindly.  "  You  know  I  never  have  refused  you 
anything.  But  this  is  accusing  me,  as  well  as  you. 
I  arn  supposed  either  not  to  know,  or  not  to  do,  my 
duty." 

She  had  scarcely  heard.     She  was  almost  fainting. 

"  Don't  mind  it  so  much ! "  the  Director  continued, 
distressed  at  the  effect  of  his  communication,  which 
he  had  not  foreseen.  He  had  been  more  occupied  by 
the  thought  of  the  injury  which  might  be  done  to 
himself  by  an  official  accusation  of  neglect  in  the  ful- 
filment of  his  duties.  He  well  understood  that  in  a 
position  so  responsible,  and  one  that  was,  moreover, 
desired  by  many,  he  must  keep  himself  above  re- 
proach, and  he  was  anxiously  scrupulous  that  every 
smallest  technicality  of  his  office  should  be  rigidly 
observed.  He  had  found  Valeria  a  lady,  and  had 
treated  her  as  such.  He  now  found  himself  required 
to  treat  her  as  a  mad  woman. 

"  I  will  see  the  Consul,  and  ask  what  it  means,"  he 
said.  "  Of  course,  I  cannot  let  you  go  out  now  for  a 
little  while,  till  this  blows  over;  but  you  shall  go 
again  soon." 

"You  cannot  believe  that  I  have  done  anything 
strange  !"  she  said  faintly. 

"  No,  I  do  not  believe  it,"  he  answered. 

"  I  told  Miss  Pendleton  on  Sunday  that  I  would 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  337 

appeal  to  the  Consul  for  protection  against  her,  and 
this  is  her  answer  !  She  has  been  to  him,  or  sent 
some  one  else,  and  they  have  made  hirn  believe  some- 
thing, I  do  not  know  what.  I  do  not  know  what 
they  are  doing.  There  is  something  hidden.  She 
was  always  before  very  respectful  to  me,  as  it  was  her 
place  to  be ;  but  on  Sunday  she  spoke  as  if  I  were 
under  her  feet." 

"  Try  to  be  quiet  now,  and  I  will  talk  to  him,"  the 
Director  said  soothingly.  "  It  will  all  come  right. 
There  has  been  some  mistake." 

She  went  back  to  the  casino. 

Did  the  flowers  console  her,  of  the  view  ?  They 
were  all  a  darkness.  The  Donna  Claudia  was  growl- 
ing and  biting  her  nurse.  A  new  patient  had  been 
brought  in  through  the  villa  gate  in  a  carriage,  from 
which  they  were  vainly  trying  to  persuade  her  to 
descend.  Half  a  dozen  men  and  women  stood  about 
waiting  to  help,  if  force  should  be  necessary. 

Up-stairs,  the  sister  was  preparing  a  chamber  in 
the  same  corridor  as  Valeria's. 

"  What !  are  you  going  to  put  an  insane  woman  up 
here  ? "  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  There  is  no  other  room  down-stairs,"  Sister  Agnes 
answered.  "  The  house  is  full." 

Valeria  stood  and  held  her  hands  clasped  over 
her  heart,  which  seemed  about  to  leap  from  her 
breast. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  new  patient  appeared,  two 
nurses  holding  her  feet,  and  two  men  at  her  head  and 
shoulders.  Her  face  was  deeply  red,  her  eyes  Hash- 
ing, and  her  breathing  loud;  but  she  did  not  sprulv, 
nor  resist.  She  merely  let  them  carry  her,  but  would 
not  help  them  by  walking. 

Valeria  shut  herself  into  her  room,  and  began  to 
write  letters,  some  of  which  she  sent  out  that 
evening. 


338  BY  THE   TIBER. 

The  next  day  Dr.  Kraus,  to  whom  she  had  written, 
came  to  see  her,  and  was  shown  up  to  her  room. 

"  I  sent  for  you  in  order  to  ask  you  certain  ques- 
tions," she  said.  "  They  are  not  necessary  to  satisfy 
my  own  mind ;  but  I  wish  to  know  what  you  will 
say.  In  the  sickness  through  which  you  attended  me 
before  I  came  here,  I  had  fever,  congestion  of  the 
lungs,  and  delirium,  and  was  ill  about  three  weeks. 
The  physical  illness  was  enough  to  account  for  the 
delirium.  Am  I  not  right  ? " 

He  assented. 

"  Was  I  ever  violent  ? "  she  pursued. 

"  I  never  saw  you  so.  You  used  to  speak  of  the 
room  being  full  of  people.  But  the  servant  said  that 
you  got  up  sometimes  in  the  night,  and  that  you 
asked  for  your  keys,  and  she  was  rather  afraid." 

"I  remember  that  part  perfectly,"  Valeria  said.  "It 
was  a  lucid  interval,  when  I  did  not  know  how  long 
I  had  been  sick,  and  wanted  the  key  of  my  scrivania, 
as  I  always  kept  it  by  me,  lest  the  servant  should  rob 
me.  And  now,  another  question :  Was  I  in  such  a 
state  that  I  could  have  been  brought  here  if  I  had  not 
consented  to  come  ? " 

"  No,  you  were  not,"  he  said.  "  But  you  needed  a 
care  that  you  could  not  have  in  your  own  house. 
Miss  Pendleton  said  she  thought  you  were  insensible 
nearly  all  the  way  here." 

"  I  was  not.  I  can  be  silent  without  being  insen- 
sible. She  knows  that  I  was  not;  for  I  remarked 
that  the  driver  was  taking  a  round-about  road.  I  was 
a  very  sick  person  who  ought  to  have  been  in  bed, 
instead  of  dragged  out  into  a  cold  November  rain. 
My  committal  here  was,  then,  illegal.  If  I  could  not 
be  forced  to  corne,  I  could  not  be  deceived  into  com- 
ing, believing  that  I  was  going  somewhere  else.  And 
if  I  could  not  have  been  forced  to  come,  I  cannot  be 
forced  to  stay." 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  339 

He  began  to  shrug  his  shoulders.  "  It  was  thought 
best  that  you  should  stay  here  till  you  should  be  aide 
to  return  to  America,"  he  said  in  a  wheedling  voice. 
"You  are  very  comfortable,  and  you  can  drive  or 
walk  out  when  you  like.  You  are  very  well  off." 

"  I  shall  not  remain  here  a  day  longer  than  I  am 
forced  to  stay,"  she  replied.  "  And  when  I  go  away, 
I  shall  order  my  life  as  seems  to  me  best." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  will  get  away,"  the  doc- 
tor said,  changing  his  tone  to  one  less  complacent. 
"  There  is  no  one  to  take  the  responsibility,  and 
you  cannot  leave  without  some  one  to  answer  for 
you." 

It  was  quite  true.  She  had  no  acquaintances  in 
Rome,  except  this  little  band  who  had  confined  her, 
and  kept  her  confined.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
ask  a  stranger  to  be  responsible  for  her,  the  more  so 
that  these  people  were  on  the  alert  to  cut  off  every 
chance  of  escape,  and  to  prejudice  the  minds  of  every 
one  who  might  approach  her.  They  had  compromised 
themselves  seriously;  and  if  they  had  had  no  evil 
intention  from  the  first,  it  was  now  for  their  interest 
to  justify  what  they  had  done,  since  they  did  not 
mean  to  repair  it. 

"  You  knew,  in  placing  me  here,  that  I  could  not  go 
away  without  some  person  being  responsible  for  me  ? " 
she  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  Why,  that  is  the  rule  of  the  place,"  he  replied, 
hesitatingly. 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that  the  person  who  con- 
signed me  to  this  place  —  illegally,  mind,  by  your 
own  acknowledgment  —  cannot  be  obliged  to  release 
me  ? " 

"  But  I  do  not  know  that  you  are  well,"  he  said, 
with  an  insolent  smile. 

Valeria  restrained  herself,  and  dropped  her  eyes, 
that  he  might  not  see  the  anger  in  them. 


340  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"  I  need  not  detain  you  any  longer,"  she  said,  and 
rose  to  accompany  him  down-stairs,  where  she  took 
a  civil  leave  of  him  before  the  sister. 

"  But  if  I  had  the  power,  I  would  order  fifty  lashes 
to  be  given  you,"  she  thought,  as  he  bowed  his  little 
pink-and-white  impudent  face  before  going  out. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  went  down  to  the  garden 
beside  the  wall,  and,  seating  herself  in  the  swing  there, 
pushed  slowly  to  and  fro  with  the  long  amber-colored 
cane.  The  air  was  soft,  and  the  sky,  brilliant  with 
unclouded  sunshine,  was  of  a  dazzling  blue.  Across 
this  sky,  at  the  right,  ran  the  sculptured  yellow  cor- 
nice of  the  house,  with  vases  full  of  aloes  along  the 
roof.  At  the  other  side,  the  same  plants  reared  them- 
selves against  the  blue  on  the  near  wall  outside  which 
dropped  the  great  bastion  of  Paul  III. 

Into  the  hollow  of  one  of  these  aloe-leaves,  just 
where  it  folded  to  run  into  a  sharp  point,  dropped  a 
tiny  bird,  and,  resting  on  the  soft  cushion  of  its  own 
breast,  poured  out  a  sweet,  though  plaintive  song. 

Valeria  looked  up  with  a  faint  smile  on  her  trem- 
bling lips. 

"  '  Che  viioi  dirmi  in  tua  favella, 
Pellegrina  rondinella  ? '  " 

The  feathered  singer  stopped,  seemed  to  listen  a 
moment  to  the  echoes  of  its  own  song,  then  raised  its 
tiny  wings  and  darted  across  to  the  house-top,  and 
perched  on  a  cross  above  the  vane,  her  eyes  following 
him. 

How  noble  a  mistress  is  Nature !  With  what  a 
soft  and  potent  touch  she  calms  the  troubled  soul,  and 
makes  of  every  delight  she  offers  a  step  upward  !  She 
opens  the  eyes  of  those  who  love  her  geuerously,  and 
shows  them  the  unlost  antique  paradise,  while  others 
grovel  in  the  desert.  All  riches  are  theirs. 

What  tapestry  does  not  look  dull  to  one  who  has 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  341 

been  studying  a  flower- wreathed  trellis,  where  bees 
and  humming-birds  contend  for  the  honey  of  each 
scented  blossom  ?  What  velvet  is  not  coarse  after  a 
rose-petal,  what  lace  not  poor  after  the  point  of  the 
frost-worker?  What  landscape  satisfies  him  who 
turns  from  the  mountains  and  rivers  of  the  Master 
of  the  old  masters,  and  what  shape  of  marble  or  what 
painted  face  can  equal  the  human  face  with  an  im- 
mortal soul  in  it  ?  Is  not  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
insignificant  to  the  gaze  that  withdraws  itself  dazzled 
from  the  dome  of  the  sky  ? 

The  achievements  of  art  are  great -only  to  him  who 
is  blind  to  nature,  or  who  has  studied  the  impoteucy 
of  art  to  represent  nature ;  and  to  appreciate  those 
achievements,  one  must  have  served  an  apprenticeship 
to  pettiness.  The  unlearned  lover  of  nature  looks  at 
first  with  disappointment  on  the  canvas  of  Raphael 
and  the  marble  of  Michelangelo;  and  to  know  how 
great  these  men  are,  he  must  first  descend  and  study 
their  difficulties  and  imagine  their  despair. 

In  this  same  sunset  hour,  a  small  company  was 
gathered  in  Casa  Passarina.  To  them  entered  a  bright 
young  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clive  Willis.  The  latter, 
on  her  independent  cards,  wrote  herself  "  Mrs.  Lilian 
Willis,  nee  Marshall." 

These  two  had  first  met  in  Rome,  where  they  had 
flirted,  and  quarrelled,  and  gone  their  separate  ways. 
But  when  the  young  lady  returned  to  America,  the 
gentleman  found  that  he  was  not  yet  entirely  satisfied 
with  the  corrections  which  he  had  given  her,  and  that  a 
great  deal  of  unexpressed  disapprobation  still  remained 
to  trouble  his  soul.  He  followed  her,  therefore,  and 
the  result  was  a  mutual  agreement  to  quarrel  amica- 
bly for  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

This  was  their  first  appearance  at  Casa  Passarina 
since  their  return,  and  they  were  joyfully  welcomed 
by  their  old  acquaintances. 


342  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"We  have  come  to  Europe  for  a  few  months  to 
escape  congratulations,"  the  gentleman  explained. 
"  Americans  in  America  have  such  odd  notions. 
They  think  that  when  people  marry  all  is  changed  for 
them  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  that  they  immedi- 
ately become  foolishly  happy,  and  from  that  dwindle 
off  gradually  into  nothingness.  Now,  Americans  in 
Europe  have  no  sentimental  ideas  about  marriage. 
No  one  here  bothers  us  with  any  nonsense  about  the 
matter.  They  know  better." 

"Men  do  not  lie  half  so  nicely  as  women  do," 
thought  Mrs.  Lilian,  as  she  calmly  waited  for  her  hus- 
band to  finish  his  speech.  "That  poor  fellow  will 
never  be  able  to  deceive  me  in  the  least." 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  when  an  opportunity  came, 
"  do  tell  me  all  the  news  about  everybody.  We  are 
going  to  Naples  to-morrow  evening,  and  may  not  see 
you  again.  How  is  Miss  Cromo  ?  You  know  she 
was  my  '  intimate  enemy.'  " 

A  little  chorus  of  "  Hush  ! "  and  enter  Miss  Cromo. 
She  seldom  visited,  because  she  was  of  no  great  con- 
sequence in  any  other  house  than  her  own ;  but  now 
and  then  she  came  to  Casa  Passarina. 

"  You  want  to  know  the  news  of  everybody,  my 
dear  ?  "  she  asked,  after  having  made  her  compliments 
to  the  bride.  "  To  begin  with,  I  suppose  you  know 
that  Mrs.  Gordon  has  caught  a  count  for  her  daughter. 
You  did  not  ?  Well,  she  has  caught  him  ;  but  she  had 
to  pay  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  him.  But  then  he 
was  a  very  good  article  of  the  kind,  having  an  old 
name  and  some  notable  connections.  Besides,  last 
year  was  rather  a  bad  one  ;  for  there  were  some  petro- 
leum and  bonanza  girls  here  with  no  end  of  money. 
However,  they  went  in  for  princes  and  dukes." 

"  What  a  price  to  pay  for  a  count ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Lilian  scornfully.  "  I  have  known  of  their  going  for 
five  thousand,  and  ten  is  a  high  price.  With  good 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  343 

management  you  could  get  a  real  marchese  for  ten 
thousand." 

"The  man  himself,  yes.  But  connections  cost. 
Besides,  a  nice  young  man  will  always  cost  more 
than  a  battered  old  reprobate  of  the  same  grade, 
unless  the  lady  wishes  to  be  a  widow;  and  Mrs. 
Gordon's  son-in-law  is  but  twenty-five.  Then,  she 
is  to  live  with  them  half  the  time." 

"  Oh ! "  says  Mrs.  Lilian,  with  a  long  circumflex. 
"  He  was  not  so  very  dear,  after  all  But  do  tell 
me  about  Miss  Ellsworth." 

Miss  Cromo  sighed.  "Poor  Valeria!  I'm  afraid 
there  is  n't  much  chance  for  her.  Dr.  Lacelles  says 
that  she  is  hopelessly  insane.  We  are  trying  to 
manage  some  way  to  get  her  to  America." 

"  How  dreadful  ! "  exclaimed  the  bride,  really 
shocked.  "  I  liked  her  so  much.  Do  you  think  that 
we  could  see  her  ?  Would  she  know  us  ?  " 

"  It  would  only  distress  you,  my  dear,"  Miss  Cromo 
replied  tenderly.  "She  is  violent  against  all  her 
friends,  even  those  who  have  done  the  most  for  her. 
I  went  to  see  her  just  before  she  was  taken  to  the 
asylum,  and  she  drove  me  out  of  the  house.  I  thought 
best  not  to  go  again,  lest  it  should  excite  her ;  but  I 
have  told  them  to  let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything 
for  her." 

An  elderly  gentleman,  who  was  waiting  for  a  friend, 
had  been  sitting  apart,  looking  over  some  newspa- 
pers. He  was  not  acquainted  with  the  company,  and 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation.  But  here  he 
interposed. 

"Pardon  me!"  he  said  quietly;  "but  I  think  that 
you  must  have  been  misinformed.  I  breakfasted  to- 
day with  the  Baroness  Hiibner,  and  this  lady  you 
mention  was  spoken  of.  The  Baroness  lias  been  at 
the  Manicomio,  and  she  talked  more  than  a  hour  with 
Miss  Ellsworth,  and  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  She 


344  BY  THE    TIBER. 

told  me  that  she  was  stupefied  at  finding  such  a  lady 
in  such  a  place.  There  was  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
mental  disorder.  The  lady  was  perfectly  calm  and 
reasonable." 

"  It  is  not  an  insanity,  as  the  word  is  usually  under- 
stood," Miss  Cromo  said,  without  seeming  aware  that 
she  was  contradicting  herself.  "She  has  manias. 
She  can  appear  sane  at  times,  as  many  insane  per- 
sons do.  Besides,  she  would  be  on  her  guard  with 
strangers." 

"  I  also  saw  the  Marchesa  della  Fontana,"  the  gen- 
tleman pursued  coolly.  "  She  goes  to  the  asylum 
occasionally  to  visit  friends  there  ;  and  she  had  a  long 
conversation  with  Miss  Ellsworth.  Her  conclusion 
was  the  same.  She  found  something  very  strange 
in  the  affair." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  other  persons  who  give  a  very 
different  testimony,"  Miss  Cromo  said,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling and  her  head  stiffly  erect.  "  The  word  of  two  noted 
physicians  and  of  the  American  Consul  must  be  of 
more  weight  than  that  of  any  chance  visitor.  She  was, 
besides,  so  violent  the  last  time  that  Miss  Pendleton 
was  there  that  they  are  afraid  to  allow  them  to  meet 
again.  And  there  is  nothing  which  Miss  Pendleton 
has  not  done  for  her." 

"  As  what  ? "  asked  the  gentleman,  who  seemed  to 
be  rather  a  troublesome  person. 

"  Why,  Miss  Pendleton  took  charge  of  all  her  affairs 
when  she  was  sick,  and  has  taken  the  greatest  pains 
with  them  ;  and  she  has  written  to  her  friends,  and 
she  made  all  the  arrangements  for  her  to  go  to  the 
asylum,  and  has  done  a  great  deal  for  her  since 
then." 

"The  question  is,  whether  the  lady  or  her  affairs 
are  in  any  better  condition  after  having  been  so  taken 
care  of,"  the  gentleman  returned.  "  The  most  of  us 
would  think  ourselves  but  little  obliged  to  one  who 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  345 

would  take  possession  of  us  and  our  affairs  when  we 
were  sick,  and  retain  possession  of  both  when  we  are 
well.  I  do  not  know  all  of  this  affair ;  but  my  idea 
is  that  the  cause  for  gratitude  is  not  so  sure.  I  hap- 
pened to  be  at  Madame  L.'s  pension  the  day  that  the 
Medical  Director  of  the  asylum  recommended  Miss 
Ellsworth  there.  He  spoke  highly  of  her,  said  that 
there  had  never  been  anything  like  insanity  in  her 
case,  but  that  she  was  brought  there  for  care  during 
the  convalescence  of  a  severe  illness,  and  that  she 
was  now  in  excellent  health.  Such  an  authority  is 
supreme." 

"  Every  one  knew  that  she  needed  a  guardian," 
Miss  Cromo  said,  losing  temper.  "  She  was  killing 
herself  with  opium  ;  and  besides,  she  was  insane  in 
money-spending.  Last  year  she  spent  three  thousand 
dollars  ;  and  she  ought  not  to  have  spent  a  thousand." 

"  You  can't  shut  a  person  up  for  spending  more 
than  their  income,  nor  for  opium-eating,"  the  gentle- 
man replied.  "  And  even  if  you  could,  the  charges 
would  have  to  be  proved  in  every  case." 

Miss  Cromo  rose  angrily,  turned  her  back  upon  the 
speaker,  and  took  leave  of  the  others. 

Her  antagonist  looked  curiously  after  her. 

"  What  interest  has  that  lady  in  proving  that  Miss 
Ellsworth  is  insane  ?  "  he  asked.  "  She  professes  to 
be  a  friend,  and  ready  to  do  any  service,  yet  I  mid 
her  talk  very  inimical.  Has  she  anything  at  stake  ?  " 

Miss  Cromo  had,  in  fact,  won  her  stake.  For  the 
Countess  Belvedere  saluted  her  when  they  met  — 
rather  negligently,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  a  recognition 
—  and  one  or  two  of  her  humbler  friends  had  visited 
Miss  Cromo's  house.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
her  services  would  be  rewarded  too  quickly  or  openly  ; 
but  she  understood  that  in  time  quite  a  little  circle 
attached  to  the  mistress  of  Villa  Mitella  might  honor 
her  with  their  smiles. 


846  BY  THE   TIBER. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FOUR-LEAVED    CLOVERS. 

THERE  came  a  morning  soon  that  was  spring, 
though  it  was  still  called  February.  Nature  had 
for  some  time  been  preparing  one  of  her  pleasant 
surprises ;  a  multitude  of  leaves  had  stolen  out  in 
dusky  dominoes,  and  held  themselves  ready  to  un- 
fold and  show  a  tender  green  at  a  moment's  notice ; 
there  were  countless  flower-buds  hidden  under  brown 
masks,  where  only  the  most  searching  eyes  could  de- 
tect their  peeping  faces;  and  it  had  taken  a  sharp 
little  box-ou-the-ear  from  a  tramontana  to  keep  the 
daisies  from  opening  out  a  million  million  disks  the 
day  before,  and  turning  all  the  world  a  premature 
pink  and  white.  Moreover,  slim  rosebuds  had  been 
eagerly  sipping  a  rosy  ichor  from  the  very  heart's 
blood  of  the  bountiful  mother,  and  pushing  their 
green  sepals  apart  like  the  bars  of  a  lattice  with  their 
swelling  petals.  All  at  once,  at  some  signal,  perhaps 
an  air  out  of  the  sky,  or  a  beam  of  the  sun,  or  some 
rush  of  birds,  or  a  pulse  whispering  under  the  earth, 
out  they  all  burst  at  once.  No  one  saw  them  appear, 
but  there  they  were.  It  was  done  by  the  dews  of  the 
dark  knight,  or  in  some  magical  hour  of  uncertain 
dawn.  Ten  kinds  of  flowers  were  open,  myriads  of 
birds  flew,  the  trees  were  a  mist  of  foliage,  and  the 
very  thorns  of  the  rose-bushes  were  so  large  and 
transparent  and  crimson  that  they  seemed  to  be  full 
of  blood. 

'  When  Valeria  went  down-stairs  in  the  morning, 
the  doors  and  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  ladies 
were  all  in  the  garden.  The  Duchess  was  seated  on  a 
bench,  full  of  satisfaction  over  a  plate  of  snails,  which 


FOUR-LEAVED   CLOVERS.  347 

she  picked  out  of  the  shells  with  a  large  pin,  and  ate, 
while  talking  airily  of  her  near  departure  from  the 
villa. 

"  We  will  take  an  apartment  together,"  she  said  to 
Valeria.  "  I  do  not  care  for  a  large  establishment. 
We  can  have  a  groom,  a  cook,  and  each  of  us  a  maid 
Will  not  that  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Quite  enough,"  Valeria  replied  listlessly,  and  went 
on. 

The  nun  in  charge  of  the  Tessenda  came  to  meet 
her.  "  When  are  you  going  away,  siguora  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Oh,  it  is  pleasant  here!  "  she  replied. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  place,  yes,"  the  sister  said;  "but  it 
is  no  place  for  you." 

The  Donna  Faustina  was  busy  with  her  lace- 
making,  into  which  she  was  weaving  a  little  white 
butterfly  that  she  had  found  entangled  in  a  spider's- 
\veb.  The  Donna  Claudia  walked  to  and  fro,  swing- 
ing her  handkerchief,  and  declaiming  in  a  voice  that 
rose  now  and  then  like  a  tempest,  then  died  away  in 
a  sighing  cadence  that  was  inexpressibly  musical  and 
touching.  In  the  midst  of  them  the  English  lady 
was  affably  entertaining  an  invisible  company. 

In  one  of  the  upper  windows,  clinging  to  the  bars 
as  she  stood  on  the  window-ledge,  was  the  last 
patient,  the  Signora  Agnese,  talking  with  great  volu- 
bility at  the  top  of  her  voice.  She  had  resisted  all 
efforts  to  persuade  her  to  eat,  and  was  now  cele- 
brating her  triumph  over  the  doctors,  who  had  just 
left  her. 

"Dottori  beneditti!"  she  called  jeeringly  after  them. 
"  Do  you  think  to  make  me  afraid  ?  I  am  not  afraid 
of  you  all,  put  together."  And  her  scornful  laugh  ran 
down  through  the  bars. 

The  young  widow  stood  apart,  as  usual,  wrapped 
in  dark  and  bitter  silence.  The  Sor  Agnesina  made 


348  BY  THE   TIBER. 

tatting  with  swift,  dexterous  fingers,  and  wagged  her 
yello\f  head,  and  seemed  to  talk  inwardly. 

"  If  I  should  stay  here  long,"  Valeria  thought,  "  and 
watch  these  people,  and  be  tormented  by  those  others 
outside,  I,  too,  might  begin  to  do  strange  things.  I 
wonder  if  they  think  of  that  in  keeping  me  here  !  I 
wonder  if  they  never  thought  of  it  in  placing  me  here ! " 

Turning  away  from  the  contemplation,  she  went  up 
to  her  room  again.  But  this  was  no  longer  a  peaceful 
refuge.  All  night  she  had  heard  the  ravings  of  the 
Signora  Agnese,  and  it  was  now  impossible  to  shut 
her  voice  out. 

She  tried  to  write ;  but  presently  dropped  the  pen, 
and  sat  thinking.  In  spite  of  her,  story  after  story 
came  up  before  her  of  Italian  vengeance,  of  people 
imprisoned  without  accusation  or  trial,  of  sane  people 
shut  into  lunatic  asylums,  of  sudden  deaths  that  no 
one  dared  ask  questions  about  —  all  these  tales  re- 
peated, not  by  strangers  and  ignorant  people  alone, 
but  by  Italians  and  people  of  culture. 

As  she  thought,  her  mind  was  like  a  smoke  in 
which  a  thin  flame  flickers  ;  and  the  smoke  was  doubt, 
and  the  flame  suspicion.  This  suspicion  had  been 
flickering  in  her  mind  ever  since  her  interview  with 
Miss  Pendleton. 

Now,  as  before,  she  put  it  away,  and,  rising,  began 
to  pace  her  room.  The  morning  sunshine  was  re- 
flected in  at  the  window,  and  where  it  shone  brightest 
on  the  wall,  hung  a  picture  of  Tasso,  the  large  lumi- 
nous eyes  looking  out  of  his  pallid  face  with  the 
expression  of  a  hunted  creature  which  seeks  for  refuge, 
and  finds  it  not. 

"Oh,  Tasso  mio!"  she  said,  looking  into  those 
troubled  eyes,  "you  asked  for  love,  and  they  gave 
you  a  prison  ;  you  asked  for  bread,  and  they  gave  you 
a  laurel  crown.  You  were  great,  and  I  am  small ;  but 
we  were  both  caught  in  the  same  net." 


IN  THE  NET.  349 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Sister  Agnes  came 
in  with  a  letter  and  a  package.  "  I  hope  it  is  some- 
thing pleasant,"  she  said,  lingering  a  little. 

Valeria  opened  the  letter.  It  was  from  her  pub- 
lisher, and  announced  the  issue  of  her  book,  of  which 
he  sent  her  a  copy. 

She  opened  the  package,  and  saw  a  pretty  green- 
covered  volume  with  three  four-leaved  clovers  on  the 
cover.  Here  was  what  she  had  expected  to  receive 
with  delight,  and  she  received  it  —  thus  ! 

The  sister  was  looking  at  her  with  kind  solicitude. 
She  had  hoped  to  give  pleasure,  and  feared  that  she 
had  given  pain  instead.  "It  is  pleasant,  thank  you, 
suora  mia"  Valeria  said,  trying  to  smile.  "  See  !  it  is 
my  new  book,  and  —  and  —  oh  !  I  cannot  bear  it  any 
longer  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IN   THE  NET. 

AS  soon  as  Valeria  had  recovered  from  her  second 
fever,  and  had  begun  to  be  displeased  at  the 
liberties  taken  in  her  affairs,  she  had  written  to 
several  persons  among  those  who  were  most  interested 
in  her;  and  while,  to  spare  them  anxiety,  she  had 
made  no  complaint  of  any  one,  and  had  dwelt  on  the 
kindness  of  those  about  her  in  the  Manicomio,  she 
had  stated  decidedly  her  intention  of  going  away  at 
the  end  of  three  months. 

It  was  now  time  to  hear  from  her  correspondents  ; 
and  one  morning  the  sister  came  smiling  into  her 
room  with  both  hands  full  of  letters. 

"  I  am  sure  there  must  be  some  good  news 


350  BY  THE   TIBER. 

all  these,"  she  said,  and,  laying  them  down,  delicately 
withdrew,  and  left  Valeria  to  read  them. 

The  first  was  from  a  publisher,  and  contained  the 
second  monthly  payment  for  her  serial.  The  first  had 
come,  and  she  had  given  it  up  to  the  Medical  Director, 
having  been  told  that  she  would  not  be  allowed  to 
hold  money. 

The  second  letter  was  from  the  American  nun, 
Sister  Veronica,  and  had  come  to  Miss  Pendleton's 
care,  as  many  other  letters  had  during  her  illness. 

At  the  first  glance  Valeria  saw  that  this  letter  had 
been  opened  in  Eome.  It  was  so  closed  that  the 
lines  of  the  Roman  postmark,  made  over  the  fold,  did 
not  form  a  regular  circle,  the  edges  of  the  fold  were 
worn,  there  were  marks  inside  of  the  gum  having 
been  put  on  twice,  and  a  bit  half  torn  off  the  en- 
velope. 

Sister  Veronica  had  for  many  years  been  her  most 
faithful  and  devoted  friend.  Never  had  any  one  been 
so  solicitous  for  her  good,  so  consoling  in  every  trouble, 
so  helpful  in  every  difficulty. 

"  Whoever  has  read  it  is  sure  to  have  been  edified," 
Valeria  thought,  in  unfolding  the  sheet ;  but  as  she 
read,  her  pleasure  changed  to  surprise,  and  her  sur- 
prise to  stupefaction. 

.  Sister  Veronica's  whole  letter  was  a  prayer  that  she 
would  remain  where  she  was  till  some  other  refuge 
could  be  found  for  her.  With  sorrowful  affection  she 
performed  the  duty  imposed  on  her  of  withdrawing 
the  invitation  given  Valeria  to  make  their  convent 
her  home  for  a  time.  They  could  not,  she  said,  give 
her  the  care  which  she  needed,  and  she  was  not  her- 
self in  authority  there,  and  could  give  no  invitations 
unsanctioned  by  her  superiors.  In  conclusion,  she 
begged  her  to  bear  as  patiently  as  was  possible  the 
disadvantages  of  her  position  till  they  should  have 
decided  what  to  do  with  her. 


IN  THE  NET.  351 

"  If  I  were  anything  but  a  poor  nun,  I  would  come 
to  Rome  and  take  care  of  you,  if  I  had  to  beg  my 
way,"  she  concluded,  with  a  burst  of  love  and  grief. 

Valeria  read  the  letter  through  a  second  time  to 
convince  herself  of  its  reality.  She  had  already 
written  to  decline  their  invitation,  and  the  letters 
had  crossed  on  the  way.  That  did  not  matter.  But 
what  did  the  rest  mean  ? 

Her  appearance  was  an  odd  commentary  on  this 
letter.  Tall,  full-formed,  brimming  with  life  and 
health  from  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  the  thick  curly 
hair  that  was  pushing  out  newly  after  her  fever,  one 
might  have  laughed  at  the  idea  of  her  needing  care,  if 
one  could  have  laughed  at  anything  suggested  by  that 
letter,  which  trembled  all  through  with  the  pious  and 
loving  heart  that  had  dictated  it. 

There  were  intimations  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand ;  but  the  next  letter  explained  them.  For  this 
writer  expressed  herself  more  plainly ;  and  while, 
like  Sister  Veronica,  she  did  not  mention  the  source 
of  her  information,  was  more  circumstantial  as  to 
what  that  information  had  been.  She  also  began 
and  ended  her  letter  with  advising  Valeria  to  con- 
tinue where  she  was  till  they  should  have  made  up 
their  minds  what  was  best  for  her  to  do. 

After  fifteen  years  of  a  life  of  entire  self-depend- 
ence, uncontrolled  and  unaided,  she  suddenly  found 
herself  treated  as  a  piece  of  unclaimed  luggage  which 
was  to  be  moved  from  one  place  of  storage  to  another 
by  whoever  might  compassionately  take  the  trouble 
of  such  removal.  And  at  the  same  time  she  learned 
something  of  the  grounds  on  which  this  guardianship 
was  based.  It  was  supposed  that  she  was  so  addicted 
to  the  use  of  opium  —  a  drug  which,  from  some  pecu- 
liarity of  constitution,  she  could  not  take  even  as  a 
medicine,  and  never  had  taken  —  that,  if  left  free,  she 
might  be  expected  to  appear  in  company  stupefied  or 


352  BY  THE   TIBER. 

wild  from  its  influence ;  that  she  had  so  little  idea  of 
the  value  of  money — when,  in  fact,  she  was  rather  an 
uncommonly  skilful  manager  —  that  she  was  not  to  be 
trusted  to  buy  herself  a  pair  of  shoes  ;  and  that,  while 
in  truth  of  a  notably  quiet  and  retiring  disposition, 
she  was  in  danger  of  committing  the  most  strange 
extravagances.  Everything  that  malice  could  invent, 
everything  that  could  be  gathered  from  authorities 
which  they  would  have  been  ashamed  to  acknowl- 
edge, had  been  gathered  and  written  and  told  right 
and  left.  Not  only  that:  the  story  which  Valeria 
would  not  have  made  public  even  to  obtain  protection 
for  herself,  but  had  confided  —  most  unwisely,  indeed, 
but  trustingly  —  to  the  honor  of  those  whom  she  hoped 
might  suggest  to  her  some  remedy,  now  came  back  to 
her  in  so  distorted  and  changed  a  form  as  to  be  utterly 
false,  and  contrary  to  every  fact.  And  it  came  back 
as  a  mania ;  which,  indeed,  it  would  have  been,  had 
she  ever  dreamed  of  entertaining  it.  Her  little  con- 
fidences to  Miss  Pendleton  in  those  days  of  weakness 
when  she  had  resigned  herself  into  her  hands, —  con- 
fidences which  she  had  never  doubted  would  be  held 
sacred,  the  affairs  of  her  house,  her  possessions,  all 
those  petty  details  which  would  never  have  been 
known  except  that  she  lay  helpless,  and  could  not 
keep  strangers  out,  —  here  they  all  were,  blown  to  the 
four  winds. 

And  they  had  been  believed,  and  believed  on  the 
testimony  of  a  stranger!  It  was  but  one  example 
more  of  what  a  few  flattering  words  and  pious  pre- 
tences can  accomplish. 

Miss  Pendleton  —  the  informant  could  be  no  other 
—  knew  how  to  tell  her  tale,  with  what  seeming  re- 
luctance, with  what  excuses,  with  what  expressions 
of  devoted  attachment,  with  what  doubts,  and  above 
all,  with  what  piety !  And  her  correspondents  had 
lacked  the  penetration  to  see  that,  if  really  reluctant, 


IN  THE  NET.  353 

she  need  not  have  told ;  if  doubtful  and  friendly,  she 
would  have  sought  to  disprove  such  absurdities; 'and 
if  really  pious,  she  would  have  shown  some  mercy 
and  nobility  of  soul.  The  proof  of  the  dispositions 
of  a  story-teller  is  not  in  the  professions  which  she 
makes,  but  in  the  effect  which  she  produces. 

"  Are  they  imbeciles  ? "  cried  Valeria  fiercely,  crush- 
ing the  letters  in  her  hands,  and  flinging  them  away. 

Two  others  remained.  She  tore  them  open,  and 
found  traces  of  the  same  work. 

Both  were  from  correspondents  of  Mrs.  Harwood ; 
and  the  writer  of  one  of  them,  who,  for  some  myste- 
rious reason,  assumed  that  that  lady  was  a  person  of 
infallible  judgment,  and  the  most  devoted  friend  that 
Valeria  ever  had,  insisted  that  she  would  never  have 
approved  of  what  had  been  done  without  the  best  of 
reasons,  and  that  she  had  acted  on  the  surest  informa- 
tion which  she  could  obtain. 

"  What  has  Mrs.  Harwood  to  do  with  the  matter  ? " 
Valeria  exclaimed,  flinging  this  letter  after  the  others, 
and  taking  up  the  last  one. 

And  here,  at  length,  was  a  beam  of  light  through 
the  chaos  which  surrounded  her.  A  woman  of  ex- 
treme sensitiveness  and  delicacy,  but  of  a  clear  and 
independent  judgment,  this  writer  had  not  been  im- 
posed upon  by  authorities  nor  by  phrases;  and  she 
considered  Valeria's  confinement  an  outrage.  The 
same  reasons  for  it  which  had  been  written  to  the 
others  had  been  given  to  her  also,  and  she  scornfully 
pronounced  them  worthless  and  null.  Living  at  a 
distance, —  she  was  in  England, —  she  could  do  noth- 
ing personally ;  but  she  could  procure  the  interven- 
tion of  a  high  foreign  official  in  Home,  who  would 
demand  an  investigation  of  the  affair. 

It  was  useless.  Unless  he  should  know  all  the 
story,  or  should  bring  these  people  before  her,  it 
would  avail  nothing.  As  long  as  they  could  talk  un- 


354  BY  THE    TIBER. 

answered,  they  could  always  conquer.  Their  strength 
was  in  their  secrecy.  There  needed  a  bold  and  reso- 
lute questioner,  who  would  oblige  each  one  to  prove 
what  she  should  assert,  or  give  her  authority,  and 
who  would  tell  Valeria  everything.  So  pursued,  they 
would  have  melted  like  shadows.  They  would  have 
heard  from  some  one,  would  have  forgotten  whom, 
would  have  shirked  responsibility.  They  would  have 
been  a  retiring  fog,  which  could  not  be  grasped, 
though  they  had  been  a  thick  fog  to  suffocate. 

But  she  could  not  hope  for  such  an  investigation. 

Neither  could  she  hope  for  any  active  partisanship 
from  the  people  of  the  Manicomio,  kind  as  they  were. 
Official  reserve  and  Italian  caution  would  prevent 
their  taking  any  aggressive  part.  But  that  they 
would  do  anything  against  her  she  could  not  believe. 
The  most  that  she  could  expect,  and  all  that  she  could 
ask,  was  that  they  should  make  her  detention  as  tol- 
erable as  it  could  be  made. 

But  in  this  moment,  even  liberty  was  almost  lost 
sight  of  in  the  misery  of  this  inevitable  inferno  of 
wagging  tongues. 

"  Oh !  who  will  ever  give  me  back  the  silence  of 
my  life  ? "  she  cried  out. 

Into  the  solitude  where  she  had  meant  to  hide  her- 
self with  nature  and  art  and  religion  for  companions, 
had  broken  the  full  pack  of  yelping  gossips. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Sister  Agnes  put 
her  head  in.  "  Well,  signora,"  she  began,  "  I  hope"  — 
then  broke  off.  "Why,  how  red  your  cheeks  are! 
What  is  the  matter  ? "  ' 

"You  hope  that  I  have  had  pleasant  news,"  Valeria 
said.  "  Come  in,  and  hear  them.  Sit  here.  Excuse 
my  standing,  and  walking  about.  And  don't  be 
alarmed  if  I  should  catch  you  and  shake  you.  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  a  tempest  shut  into  the  puny  form  of  a 
woman ! " 


IN  THE  NET.  355 

"Why,  signora — " 

"  Listen ! "     And  Valeria  told  her  story. 

The  sister  was  shocked.  She  began  to  murmur 
consolations  and  exhortations,  saying  the  best  she 
knew.  She  begged  Valeria  to  leave  all  in  the  hands 
of  God,  who  would  surely  protect  her,  and  raise  up 
friends  for  her.  She  must  try  to  forgive. 

"Forgive  !"  Valeria  burst  forth.  "  I  would  like  to 
drive  over  them  with  wild  horses  ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  so,  signora !  Try  to  wait ;  and 
God  will  right  you." 

"  Oh,  I  must  wait,  for  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot ! " 
she  cried,  wringing  her  hands.  "  But  you  may  be 
sure  that  the  time  of  God  to  right  me  will  come  the 
very  first  moment  that  I  can  right  myself ! " 

"  But,  signora,  a  Christian  must  bear  patiently  —  " 

"  Ah !  ma  sceur,"  Valeria  interrupted,  sweeping 
away  the  gentle  voice,  " '  nous  avons  change  tout 
c,ela.' " 

The  sister  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  she  said, 
"  Miss  Pendleton  has  been  here." 

"  She  has  !     Keep  her  out  of  my  sight." 

"  She  wished  very  much  to  see  you,"  the  nun  went 
on.  "  She  says  that  if  you  will  receive  her,  she  will 
never  again  interfere  with  your  affairs  in  any  way. 
And  she  wanted  me  to  tell  you  that  she  loves  you 
just  as  well  as  ever." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  does ;  just  as  well. 
Keep  her  out  of  my  sight.  Don't  allow  her  to  be  in 
the  garden  when  I  want  to  walk  there.  And  assure 
her  that  I  do  not  love  her  as  well  as  ever,  nor  at 
all ! " 

"  I  told  her  that  the  Director  does  not  allow  her  to 
see  you,"  the  sister  said. 

"  7  do  not  allow  her  to  see  me  ! " 

The  sister  had  an  inspiration.  "  Would  n't  you  like 
to  take  a  little  walk  ? "  she  asked. 


356  BY  THE    TIBER. 

It  was  the  best  diversion  possible.  They  went 
down-stairs,  and  out  through  the  garden,  Sister  Agnes 
stopping  to  gather  for  her  companion  a  bunch  of  pur- 
ple pausies  out  of  the  crowd  that  stood  all  facing  the 
sun,  each  with  the  image  of  an  oriental  bearded  face 
painted  on  its  rich  petals.  They  went  up  the  avenue 
under  the  delicate  foliage,  crossed  the  little  bridge 
that  would  soon  be  draped  with  purple  wisteria  and 
snow-white  multiflora  roses,  and  came  to  a  large  green 
in  Villa  Gabrielli,  where  a  few  benches  were  set  in  the 
lee  of  a  wide  semicircle  of  laurels  joined  thickly  into  a 
hedge.  And  here  the  sister  left  Valeria  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  nurse  they  had  met,  and  returned  to  her 
own  duties. 

The  green  was  bright  with  daisies.  In  summer  the 
grass  would  be  over  the  head  of  the  tallest  man  there. 
Everything  in  that  place  was  luxuriant  with  a  dancing 
growth. 

Valeria  seated  herself  by  the  laurels,  and  the  nurse 
went  about  gathering  daisies  for  her. 

It  was  one  of  the  days  when  the  Manicomio  was 
open  to  visitors,  and  two  gentlemen  were  wandering 
about  not  far  away.  They  went  down  the  avenue 
toward  the  bridge,  then  turned  back  on  to  the  green. 

"  Don't  take  any  notice  of  them,"  Valeria  said  in  a 
low  voice  to  the  nurse.  "  They  show  very  little  dis- 
cretion in  coming  here." 

She  turned  away  in  speaking,  and  began  to  examine 
the  dark  laurel  leaves  behind  the  bench. 

The  steps  came  nearer,  and  the  voice  of  the  nurse 
was  heard  talking  with  one  of  the  strangers.  In  spite 
of  the  charge  she  had  received,  it  was  impossible  for 
the  girl  to  resist  the  compliments  and  inquiries  ad- 
dressed to  her. 

Hearing  a  step  beside  her,  Valeria  turned  to  go 
away,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  Count 
Belvedere. 


IN  THE  NET.  357 

He  looked  at  her  with  eager  excitement,  too  much 
engrossed  in  the  object  for  which  he  had  sought  her 
to  even  salute  her. 

"  Signora,"  he  said  hastily,  and  in  a  low  tone,  "  is 
it  possible  that  I  see  the  American  of  the  casuccia  iii 
this  place  ? " 

"  If  you  have  any  inquiries  to  make  about  the  place, 
it  would  be  better  to  go  to  one  of  the  men-servants," 
she  said  coldly.  "  I  do  not  play  cicerone." 

He  regained  his  composure  immediately. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  intrude,"  he  said  respectfully. 
"  I  only  wish  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here, 
and  to  ask  if  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me." 

"  Who  sent  you  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No  one." 

"  And,  pray,  what  could  I  have  to  say  to  you  ? " 

He  had  dropped  his  eyes.  He  now  raised  them, 
and  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"  I  should  be  happy  if  I  could  be  of  any  service  to 
you.  And  I  fancied  that  you  might  have  something 
to  tell  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you,"  she  replied. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her  with  steady  and  pene- 
trating eyes.  "  We  were  sorry  to  learn  of  your  severe 
illness  last  autumn,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  looking  so  well.  Your  apartment  is  as  you  left 
it,  and  ready  for  you  whenever  you  wish  to  return." 

"Thanks!  but  I  do  not  wish  to  return  there,"  she 
said.  "  It  has  already  been  relinquished,  —  without 
my  authority,  it  is  true,  —  and  I  do  not  wish  to  re- 
new the  lease." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  he  asked,  as  she  made  a  motion  to 
go.  "  You  are  resolved  ? " 

"  It  is  all,  Signor  Conte.     Good-morning." 

She  called  the  nurse,  and  turned  away.  "  It  is  the 
only  reply  I  could  make,"  she  thought  "  He  wants 
to  find  out  something,  not  to  save  me." 


358  BY  THE   TIBER. 

The  Superior  met  her  in  the  garden  as  she  went  in. 

"  Sister  Agnes  has  been  telling  rue  of  your  letters, 
mademoiselle,"  she  said,  taking  Valeria's  hand.  "  Try 
not  to  think  of  them.  Whatever  those  people  out- 
side may  say,  here  every  one  loves  and  respects  you. 
And  those  ladies  certainly  will  do  you  no  harm  ;  they 
cannot  keep  you  here." 

"  Those  ladies,  madre  mia  !  Do  you  imagine  that 
no  one  is  concerned  but  a  few  mischievous  women  ? 
Do  you  think  that  they  would  have  dared  so  much  if 
there  were  not  a  stronger  power  behind  them  pushing 
them  on  ? " 

"  Who  could  it  be  ?  "  the  nun  exclaimed. 

Valeria  was  silent.  To  tell  anything  here  would 
be  to  make  a  bad  matter  worse. 

The  Superior  did  not  press  the  question.  "  I  have 
brought  up  a  pass  for  you,"  she  said, "  and  I  want  you 
to  go  out  and  take  a  little  walk  or  drive  in  the  city. 
Don't  sit  still  thinking  of  your  troubles.  It  will  do 
you  no  good." 

How  kind  and  thoughtful  they  were  !  It  was  im- 
possible to  refuse  the  consolation  and  help,  which  was 
the  best  that  they  could  offer. 

Valeria  dressed,  and,  accompanied  by  Fidelia,  the 
nurse,  went  to  visit  Mrs.  Harwood.  She  little  dreamed 
what  an  influence  this  lady  had  had  in  her  affairs, 
that  her  name  had,  indeed,  had  more  weight  than  any 
other,  and  that  to  her  she  owed  the  Consul's  letter 
which  had  for  a  time  shut  her  within  the  walls. 

Miss  Pendleton,  aware  that  she  had  by  her  violence 
committed  herself  irremediably,  and  alarmed  at  Va- 
leria's defiance  of  her  at  their  last  meeting,  had  hast- 
ened to  Mrs.  Harwood. 

Valeria  was  violent,  would  not  listen  to  reason,  and 
was  so  determined  to  leave  the  Manicomio  that  she 
would  undoubtedly  try  to  escape  if  she  had  the  oppor- 
tunity. It  was  true  that  she  had  no  money ;  but  she 


IN  THE  NET.  359 

might  claim  the  protection  of  the  authorities,  and 
make  a  great  scandal.  She  ought  to  be  strictly 
guarded,  and  not  allowed  to  go  into  the  street. 

Well  was  it  for  Valeria  in  that  day  that  neither 
Miss  Pendleton  nor  her  friends  had  power  within  the 
asylum.  If  they  had  had  full  authority  there,  nothing 
would  have  saved  her. 

They  did  what  they  could,  however.  Mrs.  Har- 
wood  believed  in  Miss  Pendleton  as  she  did  in  the 
sun  and  moon.  She  was  pious,  and  she  paid  great 
court  to  herself,  arid  she  had  the  gentlest  manner  in 
the  world.  Never  had  she  seen  her  otherwise  than 
complacent  and  "sweet."  It  would  not  have  been 
difficult  to  make  her  believe  that  Miss  Peudleton 
smiled  habitually  in  her  sleep.  All  that  she  said, 
therefore,  was  true  and  charitable. 

Mrs.  Harwood  consulted  with  her,  then  went  to  the 
Consul,  fortified  with  some  such  letters  as  Valeria 
had  just  received,  —  letters  procured  by  the  same 
means,  and  equally  worthless  as  testimony  or  au- 
thority. 

The  Consul  could  not  doubt  her  honesty,  though  he 
must  have  doubted  her  soundness  of  rnind.  He  knew 
some  of  her  relatives,  and  that  they  were  very  respect- 
able people.  And  to  this  "  distinguished  considera- 
tion "  Valeria  had  been  sacrificed. 

Of  all  this  she  was  completely  ignorant  when  she 
made  her  visit. 

They  talked  awhile  on  indifferent  topics;  then 
Valeria  gently  complained  of  her  detention.  She  had 
thought  better  not  to  speak  of  the  letters  received 
that  morning. 

"  Your  release  depends  on  the  doctors,"  Mrs.  Har- 
wood said,  with  an  air  of  great  reserve,  dropping  her 
eyes. 

"  The  Director  recommended  me  to  go  away  long 
ago,"  was  the  quick  reply. 


360  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"The  Consul  wishes  to  have  the  consent  of  the 
doctors  who  consigned  you  to  him,"  Mrs.  Harwood 
said  after  a  moment's  silence. 

It  was  useless  to  argue  with  her.  As  there  are 
none  so  deaf  as  those  who  will  not  hear,  so  there  are 
none  so  dull  as  those  who  will  not  be  convinced. 
Valeria  knew  that  Mrs.  Harwood  would  sit  there  in 
stolid  silence,  and  listen  as  if  to  a  whistling  wind. 
The  bitter  thought  came  almost  to  her  lips  :  "  I  wonder 
what  doctors  would  advise  your  release  if  you  were 
in  my  place ! "  but  she  did  not  utter  it. 

"  I  have  learned  from  America  this  morning  that 
the  money  I  have  been  asking  about  so  long  was  sent 
months  ago,  and  is  now  in  the  bank  here,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  sorry  that  some  one  had  not  the  good  sense  or 
the  good  manners  to  tell  me  at  once  that  I  could  not 
be  allowed  to  hold  money.  It  would  have  saved  me 
the  humiliation  of  asking  for  it  several  times  in  vain, 
and  others  the  trouble  of  telling  a  good  many  false- 
hoods. Now,  if  it  were  offered  to  me,  I  would  not 
take  it.  It  can  be  used  to  pay  any  of  my  expenses, 
if  the  unknown  powers  which  arrange  my  affairs 
choose  to  take  it.  But  I  will  not  touch  it." 

Mrs.  Harwood,  making  no  reply,  glanced  about  the 
room,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  Fidelia,  and  on  a  gay  purple 
shawl  she  wore. 

"  Where  did  she  get  that  shawl  ? "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  gave  it  to  her." 

Mrs.  Harwood  stared  at  the  shawl. 

"  It  was  brought  to  me  by  Miss  Pendleton  and 
Madame  de  la  Eoche.  I  did  not  need  it,  but  accepted 
it  from  courtesy.  Now,  of  course,  I  will  not  keep 
any  gift  from  that  house.  I  had  worn  it  once  or  twice 
about  the  gardens,  so  I  could  not  send  it  back  to  them. 
Fidelia  has  done  a  good  deal  for  me,  and  I  gave  it  to 
her." 

"But    it  was   bought  with    your    own    money," 


IN  THE  NET.  3d 

Mrs.  Harwood  exclaimed.  "  It  was  to  wear  in  the 
villa." 

"  And  so  they  buy  my  clothes,  even,  for  me,  and 
make  me  pay  for  them !  Come,  Fidelia,"  she  said, 
rising.  "  It  is  time  to  go." 

She  had  not  patience  to  talk  any  more.  She  pre- 
ferred to  go  back  to  her  prison.  The  great  iron  gate 
opened  for  her,  and  was  locked  behind  her  when  she 
had  entered.  They  went  up  the  long  stairway,  through 
gloomy  passages,  passed  over  the  arch  of  San  Spirito, 
and  up  to  the  villa.  Here  sunshine  broke  into  the 
dark  archway,  the  great  palm-tree  by  the  veranda  was 
softly  waving  its  branches  up  and  down,  the  ladies 
were  out,  and  the  gardener  was  clipping  the  trees. 

Valeria  went  to  ask  him  the  names  of  some  of  his 
plants  ;  but  his  flowers  all  spoke  Latin,  and  he  knew 
none  of  their  familiar  names. 

"  Botany  is  an  exquisite  science,"  she  thought. 
"  Why  do  not  I  study  it  ?  —  if  Madonna  Nature  would 
kindly  pardon  my  curiosity." 

The  sister  asked  if  she  had  had  a  pleasant  visit 

"  Oil  !  charming  !  " 

The  clean  clothes  had  been  brought  up  from  the 
wash,  and  Sister  Agnes  and  one  of  the  nurses  were 
folding  them  out  of  great  baskets,  and  piling  them  on 
one  of  the  marble  benches  set  between  the  doors  of 
the  lower  rooms,  and  trying  to  keep  the  Donna  Faus- 
tina from  sitting  down  upon  them  or  walking  over 
them.  As  they  pulled  the  long  sheets  between  them, 
leaning  back  to  straighten  them  well  out,  the  shadows 
of  the  palm-branches  fell  on  the  white  linen,  and 
brushed  off  the  spots  of  reflected  sunshine,  that  ever 
came  dancing  back  again. 

"  You  said  that  you  should  have  something  to  send 
out  to  the  post  this  evening,"  Sister  Agnes  said. 
"  Pietro  will  soon  come  up,  and  you  had  better  send 
out  by  him,  if  the  letters  are  ready." 


362  BY  THE   TIBER. 

"They  are  not  quite  ready;  and  I  am  thinking 
about  them.  There  is  some  manuscript,  which  will 
cost  ten  soldi.  I  want  it  registered.  Then  there  are 
two  letters,  which  will  be  five  soldi  each.  And  I  have 
fifteen  soldi  left  of  the  two  lire  that  the  Superior  lent 
me  last  month.  Do  me  a  sum,  suora  mia  :  a  certain 
poor  maniac  had  fifteen  soldi.  From  this  she  paid 
ten  soldi  for  one  thing,  and  five  soldi  each  for  two 
others.  How  much  had  the  aforesaid  poor  maniac  left  ? 
I  cannot  find  out  the  remainder.  And  do  you  not 
think  that  she  will  have  to  beg  another  lira  before  she 
can  resume  her  foreign  relations  ?  " 

The  sister  smiled.  "  The  Superior  will  lend  you 
what  you  need.  Or,  stay ;  I  believe  that  1  have  four 
or  five  soldi."  She  searched  her  pocket,  and  brought 
out  a  few  coppers.  "  But  why  do  not  you  ask  the 
Director  —  " 

"  I  shall  not  ask  the  Director.  Some  one  has  been 
telling  him  absurd  stories  of  my  extravagance,  and  he 
believes  them  ;  or  he  does  n't  disbelieve  them.  I  will 
not  beg  for  my  own  money." 

She  went  up-stairs  and  finished  her  letters  as  well 
as  she  could  for  the  noise  about  her,  then  left  her 
chamber  to  carry  them  down. 

The  door  of  the  Signora  Agnese's  room  was  open, 
and  two  nurses  were  putting  the  strait-jacket  on 
her,  while  Sister  Agnes  stood  looking  on  with  an  im- 
passible face.  The  woman  had  so  long  refused  to  eat 
that  it  was  found  necessary  to  use  force. 

The  strait-jacket,  made  of  a  strong  double  cloth 
of  twilled  linen,  had  very  long  sleeves  ending  in  straps 
that  were  tied  to  iron  bars  at  either  side  of  the  bed- 
stead. An  opening  in  the  sleeves  allowed  the  hands 
to  be  free ;  but  this  also  could  be  laced  up  so  as  to 
imprison  the  hands.  The  jacket  was  laced  behind. 
Strong  loops  were  set  at  the  waist,  the  backs  of  the 
arms,  and  at  the  shoulders,  through  which  wide  bands 


IN  THE  NET.  363 

were  passed  and  tied  to  the  iron  railing  of  the  bed- 
stead. 

Valeria  remembered  with  a  shudder  that  her  own 
bedstead  had  these  iron  bars. 

The  woman  did  not  resist,  but  she  talked  inces- 
santly, her  rather  handsome  face  very  red,  her  bright 
black  eyes  wandering  about. 

"  Bind  me  tighter  ! "  she  cried.  "  Bind  me  tighter ! 
This  is  an  easy  martyrdom.  St.  Peter,  I  suffer  this 
for  you.  I  offer  it  up  in  your  honor.  Do  you  know 
where  St.  Peter  was  crucified  ?  A  Roma  !  Do  you 
know  where  St.  Paul  was  murdered  ?  A  Roma  !" 

That  R-r-r-r-oma  !  would  have  won  applause  for  a 
tragic  actress. 

Her  restless  eyes  fell  on  Valeria,  who  stood  at  the 
door. 

"  Who  are  you?"  she  cried.  "Are  you  the  Superior?" 

"  No.  I  am  a  patient  like  you,"  Valeria  said,  going 
to  the  bedside.  "  Only  I  'in  not  so  silly  as  to  try  to 
starve  myself." 

"  I  can't  eat ! "  the  woman  replied. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can.  And  you  will  grow  worse  every 
day  if  you  don't  try.  Here  is  some  soup.  Try  to 
eat  it.  Don't  be  a  baby  ! " 

"  I  '11  try  it  for  your  sake,  but  I  don't  want  it,"  she 
said ;  and  she  swallowed  a  little  wh^n  the  sister  brought 
it  to  her,  but  pushed  the  rest  away.  "  I  cannot  eat ! " 

"  This  is  the  place  where  people  who  are  nervous 
come  to  live  tranquilly ! "  Valeria  said  to  herself  as 
she  went  down-stairs  with  her  letters,  rerneml>ering 
the  promises  with  which  she  had  been  enticed  there. 

When  she  went  back,  the  Signora  Agnese  had  been 
left  alone.  The  door  was  locked  and  the  slide  open. 
She  looked  in  and  saw  the  woman  lying  there  Ixwnd. 
She  was  singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  psalm  - 
parts  of  the  Catholic  service,  all  in  Latin,  her  toninic 
flying  with  inconceivable  rapidity.  She  sang  prayers 


364  BY  THE   TIBER. 

and  responses,  parts  of  the  Mass,  the  Preface,  the 
Pontifical  benediction,  and  dwelt  with  particular 
unction  on  the  high  festa  lie,  inissa  est,  which  she 
drew  out  in  the  long  and  rather  cranky  movement  of 
a  priest  who  has  more  music  in  his  soul  than  in  his 
voice. 

Valeria  heard  some  one  laugh,  and  turned  to  see 
Sister  Agnes.  It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh ;  for 
the  woman  lay  shouting  out  this  medley  as  if  she 
were  in  the  height  of  comfort  and  contentment. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  doctors  made  their 
daily  visit,  the  Director  came  to  the  villa  with  them. 
He  was  always  very  welcome,  for,  though  strict  in 
discipline,  he  was  kind  and  always  courteous. 

"  You  were  at  the  bank  yesterday,"  he  said  to  Vale- 
ria, with  a  certain  stateliness. 

"  No,  siguore,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  You  were  at  the  bank  and  took  out  some  money," 
he  repeated  iii  a  measured  voice. 

"  No." 

"  You  have  taken  no  money  from  the  bank  ? " 

"  No ;  who  has  said  that  I  have  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Harwood." 

Valeria  smiled.  "  You  see  what  kind  of  people 
are  guarding  me,  Signor  Cavaliere.  I  went  to  Mrs. 
Harwood  yesterday  almost  on  purpose  to  tell  her 
that  I  would  not  accept  the  money  if  she  offered  it  to 
me.  I  told  her  so  plainly." 

The  Director  uttered  an  exclamation  of  annoyance. 
"  What  kind  of  women  are  these  ?  They  go  about 
making  mischief  for  you  in  every  way." 

"  If  1  had  taken  the  money,  I  should  have  had  a 
right  to  do  so,  should  I  not  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  you  would." 

Mrs.  Harwood  had  written  her  story  to  the  Supe- 
rior directly  after  Valeria  left  her.  She  had,  in  fact, 


IN  THE  NET.  365 

fallen  into  one  of  her  trances  while  listening,  and  the 
idea  had  entered  her  darkened  mind  inverted,  like 
the  images  of  outward  objects  into  a  camerascura. 
She  had  also  complained  that  Valeria  had  been  al- 
lowed to  give  the  shawl  to  Fidelia. 

"Signor  Direttore,"  Valeria  said  later,  "do  you 
think  it  necessary  to  examine  my  letters  ?" 

"  Certainly  not !  and  I  never  have." 

"  Did  not  I  give  you  the  check  I  received  from  my 
serial  last  month,  when  I  might  have  concealed  it 
from  you  ? "  she  pursued. 

"  You  did." 

"  Well,  here  is  another  letter  from  the  same  pub- 
lisher. I  have  not  opened  it ;  I  wish  to  open  it  in 
your  presence,  so  tbat  you  may  be  sure  that  I  do  not 
steal  nor  hide  anything  out  of  it." 

She  opened  the  letter,  shook  the  sheet  wide,  and 
gave  him  the  check  it  contained. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  receive  and  keep  my  own 
money,"  she  said ;  "  but  when  I  tell  you  that  I  will 
not  take  any  without  your  consent,  I  expect  you  to 
depend  upon  my  word.  When  I  choose  to  take  my 
own  money  without  your  consent,  I  shall  take  it; 
but  I  will  give  you  fair  warning.  Here — see!  — 
is  a  letter  which  has  been  opened  to  make  sure,  I 
presume,  that  there  was  no  money  in  it.  Yet  the 
money  that  I  received  before  from  this  same  person, 
as  well  as  that  from  an  American  publisher,  I  put 
voluntarily  into  Miss  Pendleton's  hands.  Honesty 
is  thrown  away  on  such  people." 

With  an  elegantly  courteous  bow,  the  Director  ten- 
dered her  the  check  that  she  had  given  him. 

"  Madamigella,  keep  the  money,  and  whatever  may 
come  to  you  in  future,"  he  said. 

He  had  such  a  fine,  noble  nature !  One  could  not 
speak  a  generous  word  to  him  without  meeting  with 
a  generous  response. 


366  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  Valeria  added,  "  Mrs.  Harwood 
says  that  the  Consul  will  not  release  me  without  the 
consent  of  the  doctors  who  placed  me  here.  Have 
they  any  jurisdiction  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  least !  Their  work  is  done.  It  is  for 
us  to  judge  of  the  persons  in  our  care,"  the  Director 
replied. 

"  It  would  be  rather  amusing  to  have  those  two 
men  come  and  talk  with  me  to  test  my  sanity.  Ham- 
let had  but  one  Polonius ;  I  should  have  two.  '  Very 
like  a  whale.'  I  can  imagine  them  now  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  me,  one  at  either  side,  our  three  chairs 
making  a  right-angled  triangle.  Dr.  Kraus  will  look 
a  little  embarrassed.  Dr.  Lacelles  will  be  full  of  a 
solemn  feeling  of  responsibility.  They  will  use  the 
most  elaborate  diplomacy  to  introduce  every  possi- 
ble subject,  and  will  exchange  glances  at  my  replies. 
Do  you  know,  Signor  Cavaliere,  I  cannot  promise  you 
that  I  will  not  go  in  to  see  them  with  a  crown  of 
straws  on  rny  head,  and  walk  about  declaiming  like 
the  Donna  Claudia.  May  I  ?  Will  you  stand  by 
me  if  I  do  it  ? " 

"  Imbeciles  ! "  pronounced  the  Director,  with  an 
accent  of  superb  scorn,  as  he  slowly  paced  the  room. 
"  Imbeciles  ! " 

That  day  Valeria  was  told  that  Mrs.  Harwood  had 
come  and  paid  another  three  months  for  her. 

"  Don't  let  it  trouble  you,"  the  Superior  said,  when 
Valeria  uttered  a  faint  cry.  "  That  does  not  mean 
that  you  are  to  stay  three  months,  or  even  three 
weeks.  It  is  the  custom  to  pay  three  months  in  ad- 
vance, and  the  money  is  returned  afterward,  if  the 
person  goes  away  sooner.  You  are  now  on  your 
fourth  month,  you  know." 

"  Mrs.  Harwood  ! "  Valeria  repeated. 

"  She  wrote  excusing  herself  for  the  mistake  she 
made  about  the  money,"  the  Superior  continued. 


IN  THE  NET.  367 

"  And  that  very  mistake,  the  reporting  the  precise 
contrary  of  that  which  was  plainly  said  to  her,  does 
not  make  her  doubt  herself,"  Valeria  said.  "  I  have 
always  spoken  of  her  respectfully ;  but  now  she  has 
no  longer  any  claim  on  my  consideration  which  will 
prevent  my  defending  myself  to  the  utmost  against 
her.  I  will  never  see  her  again.  There  is  no  know- 
ing what  wild  reports  she  may  make  of  me." 

A  few  days  later  Mrs.  Harwood  came  to  see  Valeria, 
who  refused  to  receive  her. 

She  went  home  and  wrote  her  a  pleasant  note. 
"  You  will  always  know  where  to  find  me  when  you 
want  me,"  she  wrote. 

"  I  shall  never  want  you,"  Valeria  thought,  and 
made  no  reply.  There  was  nothing  that  she  could 
say  or  do  that  they  would  not  turn  into  mischief. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  hoped  and  everything  to  be 
feared  from  them.  And  where  was  there  any  hope  ? 
Every  one  who  was  not  knowingly  malicious  seemed 
to  be  imbecile. 

It  occurred  to  her  to  make  a  public  appeal  in  some 
American  journal.  She  could  send  away  letters  with- 
out examination.  Could  it  be  possible,  if  she  wrote 
all  her  story  to  some  journal  at  home,  that  her  release 
would  not  be  demanded  ? 

But  even  then  she  did  not  wish  to  write  that  story ; 
for,  infamous  as  were  the  principals,  they  were  less 
odious  in  her  eyes  than  their  tools.  They  were  bad 
people,  certainly,  and  they  had  been  insolent  and  bold 
in  their  mode  of  protecting  themselves ;  but  they  had 
the  excuse  of  self-protection.  Could  they  have  under- 
stood how  little  she  cared  to  know  of  their  affairs,  and 
how  averse  she  was  to  speaking  of  them,  they  might 
not  have  molested  her.  They  had  found  her  in  their 
path,  as  she  had  found  them  in  hers.  She  would  wait 
yet  a  little  longer. 

Her  thoughts  turned  to  the  Count  Belvedere,  and 


368  BY  THE    TIBER. 

instantly  rejected  his  aid.  He  would  have  found 
some  means  of  procuring  her  release,  but  always  with 
the  condition  that  she  should  tell  her  story  to  him, 
and  to  no  one  else. 

No  ;  it  was  better  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of 
them. 

But,  oh,  what  could  be  done  ?  It  was  maddening. 
Those  people  meant  to  keep  her  confined  till  she 
should  consent  to  leave  Rome,  and  to  point  out  the 
length  of  her  confinement  as  a  proof  of  insanity,  if 
ever  she  should  speak  of  the  real  cause  of  it.  Any 
intimation  of  hers  that  they  had  been  dishonest,  or 
even  mistaken,  was  to  be  treated  as  a  mania.  And 
all  this,  that  a  Roman  prostitute  and  her  associates 
might  go,  —  not  unsuspected,  for  every  one  knew  what 
they  were,  — but  without  fear  of  being  caught. 

Acteon  must  not  look  upon  these  trumpery  gods 
and  goddesses  in  the  nudity  of  their  crimes,  or  they 
change  him  to  something  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  and  set  their  dogs  to  tear  him  ! 

There  was  a  good,  kind  chaplain  at  the  Manicomio. 
He  was  not,  perhaps,  very  penetrating,  but  he  was 
very  soothing,  and  entirely  devoted  to  his  duties. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  if  he  can  calm  me  a  little," 
Valeria  thought,  "  for  all  this  is  unbearable  ;  "  and  she 
begged  Sister  Agnes  to  go  down  to  the  chapel  with  her. 

They  did  not  take  the  gloomy  way  through  the 
dormitories,  but  went  down  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
cancello  on  the  Lungara,  turned  aside  into  the  section 
of  the  third  class  of  women,  passed  a  court,  and  en- 
tered the  lower  auditorium,  which  communicated  witli 
the  chapel  by  a  grating.  It  was  a  gloomy  place,  but 
the  church  was  bright  and  pretty. 

From  this  auditorium  a  door  opened  into  a  little 
closet.  The  priest's  box  opened  into  the  church,  and 
between  the  two  was  the  tiny  perforated  screen  of 
the  confessional. 


HOME  AGAIN.  369 

Did  Valeria  tell  all  her  story  to  Don  Domenico, 
does  the  curious  reader  ask?  By  no  means.  She 
went  to  tell  her  own  sins,  not  the  sins  of  others,  and 
to  listen  to  such  comfort  as  the  priest  might  be  in- 
spired to  give.  And  it  is  wonderful  how  fresh  and 
bright  the  lip-worn  old  truths  will  come  out  some- 
times, when  both  speaker  and  listener  turn  their  backs 
on  life,  and  go  down  for  a  moment  to  look  off  over  the 
incoming  tide  of  eternity ;  as  the  dim,  wave-rounded 
pebbles  of  the  beach  glow  into  gems  when  the  foam 
rolls  over  them,  and  wakes  the  hidden  glories  of  their 
coloring. 

"  Sister  Agnes,"  said  Valeria,  as  they  went  up-stairs 
again,  "  I  weigh  just  three  pounds." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

HOME    AGAIN. 

MARCH  passed  by,  slow  day  by  day,  and  April 
came  to  the  twin  villas  in  a  shower  of  blos- 
soms, like  a  laughing  child  that  runs  into  a  chamber 
where  one  is  dying. 

All  the  eucalyptus- trees — and  there  were  many — 
hung  out  bright  spikes  and  tui'ts  of  red  and  yellow  at 
each  point  of  their  dark  winter  boughs ;  the  sombre 
box-hedges  and  the  laurels  put  forth  fresh  sprouts, 
and  the  cruelly  nicknamed  Judas-tree,  waking  to 
find  itself  leafless,  blushed  into  a  hasty  blossom  that 
veiled  it  to  the  tips  of  its  uttermost  twigs,  as  the  I^uly 
Godiva  was  veiled  by  her  bright  hair.  Here  a  vibur- 
num shrub  held  up  its  glossy  spiked  leaves,  and 
bunches  of  delicate  white  flowers;  there,  from  branches 
far  overhead,  hung  long  clusters  of  Imperial  Purple. 
24 


370  BY  THE    TIBER. 

There  were  shrubs  that  shone  with  gold,  and  others 
that  glimmered  with  silver ;  there  were  the  roses  of 
three  months,  for  they  had  begun  in  February ;  and, 
climbing  against  the  house,  flames  of  red  and  yellow 
nasturtiums,  with  the  soft  heliotrope  between.  It 
was  flowers  everywhere,  and  all  day.  The  Sor  Agnes- 
ina  snapped  them  off  when  she  thought  that  no  one 
was  looking,  and  flung  them  away  by  scores,  and  was 
severely  scolded  when  caught.  For  the  Deputy  in- 
terested himself  very  much  in  the  garden,  and  con- 
stantly charged  the  gardener  to  have  the  flowers  as 
profuse  as  possible.  The  Signora  Agnes  broke  them 
off  boldly  and  flung  them  into  people's  faces.  This 
woman  was  permitted  to  go  about  now,  and  was  as 
troublesome,  and  also  as  amusing,  as  a  person  could 
well  be ;  restless,  swift,  disdainful  of  authorities,  with 
a  generous  frankness  which  was  pleasing  to  those 
whose  faces  she  did  not  slap,  and  a  wonderful  pene- 
tration. It  was  impossible  to  deceive,  to  flatter,  or  to 
frighten  her. 

She  had  been  placed  at  table  with  the  ladies  of 
the  second  class  in  the  dining-room,  adjoining  that 
where  the  Duchess  and  the  Donna  Claudia  ate,  and 
she  amused  herself  in  distributing  sudden  spoonfuls 
of  her  soup  into  the  wine-glasses  of  the  others,  and 
in  sending  occasional  telegrams  of  bones  and  macaroni 
at  the  attendants.  Her  movements  were  so  quick 
and  so  unexpected  that  it  was  impossible  to  foresee 
and  prevent  them,  and  she  exhibited  the  utmost  care- 
lessness of  the  effects  of  her  actions.  One  piece  of 
mischief  done,  she  forgot  it,  and  immediately  addressed 
herself  to  another. 

Sometimes,  when  being  taken  into  or  out  of  her 
room,  she  broke  from  the  nurses,  and  ran  into  Vale- 
ria s  chamber. 

"  Forgive  me ! "  she  would  cry,  flinging  herself  on 
her  knees  ;  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  impolite  to  you,  but 


HOME  AGAIN.  371 

I  don't  like  them.  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  You  are 
my  angel.  I  will  do  anything  that  you  tell  me  to. 
I  am  your  devil  to  serve  you." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  served  by  a  devil,"  Valeria 
said,  trying  to  calm  her  trembling  at  the  shock  of  this 
visit.  "  If  you  will  be  so  violent,  I  shall  not  like 
you,  nor  want  you  to  like  me." 

"  Well,  now  I  will  be  quiet,"  said  the  woman,  seat- 
ing herself,  her  eyes  scintillating  with  an  excitement 
which  she  could  not  control.  "Here  are  some  flowers 
for  you.  I  will  change  with  you."  And  she  pulled 
out  the  flowers  that  fastened  Valeria's  collar,  and 
thrust  into  their  place  those  she  had  brought.  "  This 
is  yours,"  tying  around  Valeria's  arm  a  blue  worsted 
cord  that  she  had  snatched  from  some  one  down-stairs, 
and  tying  it  so  roughly  as  to  hurt  the  arm  she  waa 
decorating.  "And  these  are  yours.  Everything  I 
have  is  yours,"  piling  into  Valeria's  lap  the  different 
objects  that  she  had  gathered  about  the  house. 

The  nurse  would  have  drawn  her  forcibly  away, 
but  Valeria  would  not  allow  it.  Terrible  as  this 
intercourse  was  to  her,  she  had  too  much  compassion 
for  the  sufferers  to  allow  them  to  receive  any  reproof 
on  her  account.  Besides,  there  was  something  touch- 
ing in  the  affection  which  these  poor  creatures  testi- 
fied for  her ;  for  even  the  Signora  Ellen  would  come 
out  of  her  gloomy  trance,  and  smile  with  a  shy  sweet- 
ness if  addressed  by  her,  would  kiss  over  and  over 
the  hand  she  offered,  and  run  with  jealous  haste  to 
pick  up  anything  she  might  have  dropped. 

There  was  a  fascination  in  it,  too.  To  enter  the 
labyrinthine  windings  of  those  ruined  minds ;  to  find, 
where  all  seemed  at  first  but  dust  and  ashes,  some 
noble  or  exquisite  monument  still  standing  intact,  or 
some  fragment  which  had  added  the  pathos  of  a 
tragical  loss  to  its  former  grace ;  to  study  how,  pos- 
sibly, the  original  city  of  the  soul  might  be  built  up 


372  BY  THE    TIBER. 

again  in  a  fairer  order  than  "before,  and  to  see  even 
now  order  and  perfection  where  others  found  confu- 
sion, —  it  was  an  alluring  study.  But  even  so,  she 
went  through  these  strange  regions,  as  Dante  went 
through  the  shadowy  worlds,  shrinking  within  herself, 
and,  worse  yet,  with  no  "  caro  Duca "  to  guide  and 
reassure  her. 

Valeria  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  such  a  study,  for 
she  carried  no  positiveness  to  it.  Absolutely  passive 
and  unprejudiced  when  a  new  subject  was  presented 
to  her,  she  left  it  to  make  its  own  impressions  on  the 
sensitive  texture  of  her  mind,  and  she  formed  her 
judgments,  such  as  they  might  be,  in  her  own  lab- 
oratory, arid  from  facts  that  she  knew.  To  be  un- 
prejudiced, one  must  also  be  a  little  slow  in  credulity; 
and  she  had  as  little  respect  as  it  is  possible  for  a 
human  being  to  have  for  popular  estimates  of  people, 
when  those  estimates  take  the  form  of  accusation. 

But  this  very  readiness  to  receive  impressions  made 
her  association  with  the  insane  at  once  perilous  and 
intolerably  painful. 

She  went  out  into  the  garden  one  morning,  feeling 
that  she  must  make  some  new  effort  to  free  herself. 
The  Signora  Agnese  had  violently  beset  her  as  she 
came  down ;  the  Donna  Claudia  had  been  wild  all 
night,  and  was  now  walking  to  and  fro,  muttering  and 
casting  sidelong  glances  at  the  nurses,  her  whole 
manner  at  once  ferocious  and  cowed,  like  an  inwardly 
raging  lion  that  fears  his  keeper.  A  very  ladylike 
and  remarkably  intelligent  woman,  whose  sole  weak- 
ness was  the  idea  that  some  one  was  trying  to  poison 
her,  was  watching  with  a  trembling  and  fiery  sus- 
picion while  her  food  was  being  prepared ;  even  the 
Signora  Ellen,  usually  more  modest  and  silent  than 
any  other,  was  going  about  on  tiptoe,  with  a  strange, 
mocking  lightness,  and  seemed  to  be  angrily  mimick- 
ing some  one.  The  Donna  Faustina  had  forgotten 


HOME  AGAIN.  373 

her  lace-making,  and  was  pacing  the  veranda,  and 
scolding  sotto  voce,  in  French  and  Italian.  "Insults, 
and  insults,  and  insults ! "  she  muttered.  "  I  have 
nothing  but  insults.  I  will  have  them  imprisoned  ! " 

The  English  lady  was  seated  on  a  bench  in  the 
midst,  shopping,  apparently.  A  great  variety  of  silks, 
velvets,  and  laces  were  being  displayed  before  her, 
and  she  was  selecting  from  them,  and  discussing  their 
merits  with  the  shopman  and  with  her  friends.  "  I 
must  have  a  black  velvet  dress  with  white  satin 
sleeves,  for  one.  That  lace  is  too  wide.  What !  Do 
you  think  that  it  will  do  ?  Um !  I  'm  afraid  not. 
Now  show  me  your  pink  satins  and  organdies.  Yes, 
gauze  looks  well  over  satin."  Then  her  thoughts 
went  back  to  a  little  dance  and  supper  that  the  Dep- 
uty had  allowed  them  during  Carnival,  when,  at  the 
moment  of  breaking  up,  the  dead  Carnival  had  been 
brought  in  on  a  sheet.  It  was  but  a  bedizened  rag- 
doll  ;  but  to  her  it  had  been  a  corpse.  "  They  drop 
dead  frequently  while  dancing,"  she  said ;  "  but  they 
should  be  carried  out  quietly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
company.  I  could  slip  them  out  of  sight.  If  I  had 
to  kill  a  person,  I  should  do  it  quietly,  and  hide  the 
body.  People  don't  like  to  see  those  tilings.  When 
I  kill  that  woman,  no  one  shall  know  it." 

In  the  midst  of  this,  the  doctors  had  been  listening 
to  the  sister's  report,  and  were  writing  a  few  pre- 
scriptions. 

The  Duchess,  dressed,  as  usual,  in  the  morning  to 
go  away,  had  at  length  become  incredulous  and  des- 
perate. They  had  paid  her  compliments,  written  her 
passes,  ordered  her  carriage,  and  evaded  her  every  day 
for  years,  and  every  day  her  hope  had  revived.  On 
this  day  a  suspicion  of  the  truth  had  come  suddenly 
over  her,  and  she  was  weeping  bitterly.  From  the 
veranda  where  they  stood  in  a  splendor  of  summer 
and  flowers,  the  city  domes  and  towers  were  visible 


374  BY  THE   TIBER. 

over  the  walls ;  and  beyond,  against  a  sky  blazing 
with  light,  stood  the  Alban  mountains,  with  Frascati 
lying  against  their  rich  and  misty  purple,  each  storied 
palace  showing  a  silvery  blotch,  amid  its  groves  and 
gardens.  Among  them  was  her  own  family  villa. 
l)own  in  the  city  was  her  own  family  palace,  both 
called  by  her  maiden  name,  that  had  worn  the  coronet 
of  a  marchioness  before,  as  a  bride,  she  had  won  the 
ducal  circlet. 

Weeping  wildly,  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  that 
mocking  vision  of  her  vanished  greatness  set  upon 
the  mountain-side  before  her  eyes.  "There  is  my 
villa,  and  I  cannot  set  my  foot  on  its  turf  nor  in  its 
halls,"  she  sobbed.  "  Other  people  drive  in  my  car- 
riages and  command  my  servants.  I  am  mocked 
every  day  with  promises  which  they  never  mean  to 
keep.  Oh !  oh  !  to  see  it  there,  and  not  to  be  able 
to  go !  Nobody  shows  me  any  respect,  none  to  me, 
the  equal  of  queens !  I  have  three  coronets  on  my 
head,  I  am  a  duchess ;  and  I  can  call  nothing  my 
own ! " 

No  one  noticed  her.  What  could  they  do  ?  They 
could  console  her  only  by  giving  her  freedom.  She 
must  weep  and  rave  till  she  was  tired. 

Do  the  carefully  attended,  the  petted  for  the  scratch 
of  a  pin,  the  condoled  with  for  an  ordinary  sorrow, 
the  readily  helped  in  every  trivial  difficulty,  under- 
stand what  it  might  be  to  stand  wildly  weeping  for 
the  loss  of  more  than  life  and  friends,  and  have  those 
about  merely  raise  their  voices  a  little  in  speaking  to 
each  other,  so  as  to  be  heard,  —  the  sobs  that  are 
rending  those  hearts  no  more  to  these  than  the  sound 
of  carriage- wheels  in  the  street  ? 

It  was  not  their  fault.  Such  scenes  are  the  rule 
in  such  houses. 

Valeria  stood  a  little  while,  then  walked  away  into 
the  upper  garden,  followed  by  the  chief  doctor. 


HOME  AGAIN.  375 

"  Well,  what  are  your  friends  doing  about  taking 
you  away,  signora  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  hear  nothing,"  she  said.  "  I 
was  told  that  the  Consul  wants  the  approval  of  those 
two  doctors  who  consigned  me  here  before  he  will 
allow  me  to  come  out.  Have  they  anything  to  say 
about  it  ? " 

"  Nothing  at  all ! "  he  replied.  "  No  one  has  any 
authority  in  the  matter  but  the  doctors  here." 

Valeria  was  silent. 

"  Signora,"  said  the  doctor,  "  what  in  the  world  did 
they  put  you  in  here  for  ? " 

"  They  said  that  I  was  insane,"  she  replied. 

He  was  silent  in  his  turn. 

"  Doctor,  you  have  had  the  care  of  me,  have  seen 
me  every  day,  and  had  the  sister's  report  of  me.  Now 
I  want  you  to  answer  me  frankly,  on  your  honor, 
without  fearing  to  give  me  offence.  If  you  were 
asked  what  you  thought  of  the  propriety  of  my  being 
put  in  such  a  place,  what  would  you  say  ? " 

"  In  all  that  I  have  seen  of  you,"  he  said  immedi- 
ately, "  I  have  seen  no  reason  whatever  why  you 
should  have  been  shut  up.  But  they  said  that  you 
were  a  little  wandering  before  you  came  here." 

"  I  was  worse  than  wandering,  I  was  lost ! "  Vale- 
ria exclaimed.  "  I  had  an  illness  and  delirium,  just 
as  any  one  might  have.  You  may  judge  how  sick 
I  was,  if  you  remember  how  I  looked  when  I  came 
here,  when  I  tell  you  that  before  that  illness  I  was 
as  full  in  flesh  as  I  am  now.  I  was  ill  three  weeks, 
and  was  beginning  to  get  well.  I  had  been  quite 
insensible  a  part  of  the  time.  When  I  came  here 
I  was  very  weak." 

"  As  your  health  improved  your  mind  grew  clear, 
did  it  not  ? "  he  asked. 

"  As  you  see.     I  had  a  week's  delirium,  maybe." 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  replied. 


376  BY  THE   TIBER. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  We  must  really  do  something  to  get  you  away," 
he  said  then.  "  It  does  harm  to  us,  who  only  come 
up  once  a  day,  to  see  these  people  ;  how  much  more 
to  you  who  are  here  all  the  time !  I  will  speak  to 
the  Director  about  it.  But  you  had  better  go  in 
now.  There  is  a  shower  coming  up.  See  how  black 
it  is  growing  over  there  ! " 

It  was  one  of  those  sudden  tempests  that  some- 
times come  up  on  a  bright  day ;  and  it  had  almost 
covered  the  western  sky  before  they  perceived  it.  As 
the  doctor  spoke,  it  struck  the  villa. 

Holding  on  his  hat,  he  ran  toward  the  bridge. 

Sister  Agnes,  with  the  double  flaps  of  her  bonnet, 
black  silk  over  white  linen,  flying  in  the  wind,  ran 
about  gathering  the  ladies,  and  getting  them  into  the 
house. 

Valeria  went  up  to  her  chamber  for  a  moment ; 
then,  seeking  the  sister,  coaxed  out  of  her  an  unwill- 
ing permission  to  go  to  the  terrace  on  the  roof,  and 
see  the  storm  come  in  over  the  city. 

"  Only  don't  stay  out  in  the  rain ! "  Sister  Agnes 
begged,  as  she  unlocked  the  terrace  door. 

When  the  first  flight  of  large  rain-drops  came,  flung 
against  the  house  with  a  rattling  like  shot,  she  went 
down  to  her  room  again.  There  was  a  loud  booming 
sound  of  the  wind  rushing  through  some  fissure  in  the 
ceiling  or  roof  over  her  window. 

"  Hear  the  Barberini  bees  ! "  she  said,  thinking  of 
the  great  stone  bees  on  the  cornice  outside,  to  the 
nurse,  who  was  closing  the  windows. 

The  girl  stared. 

Before  sunset  tlie  storm  was  over;  and  at  evening 
the  full  moon  rose  superbly  into  a  world  all  golden, 
and  kissed  on  her  silvery  forehead  by  the  last  sun- 
beam. Even  the  sullen  Tiber  had  been  put  into  good- 
humor  by  this  tempestuous  sfogo  of  the  skies.  Could 


HOME  AGAIN.  377 

that  be  the  ugly,  wicked  Tiber,—  that  shining  stream, 
all  delicate  rose  and  silver,  with  every  arch  of  every 
bridge  mirrored  faithfully,  and  the  first  arrowy  moon- 
beam quivering  "in  its  tide  ? 

Valeria  had  begged  another  favor  of  Sister  Agnes ; 
and  when  the  ladies  were  all  shut  into  their  rooms, 
she  came  quietly  out  of  her  own.  Passing  along  the 
corridor,  the  light  of  her  candle  shining  on  the  pretty 
crimson  borders  of  the  doors,  she  saw  a  light  at  the 
end,  in  the  chamber  opposite  that  of  the  Signora 
Agnese,  who  was  shouting  her  psalms  as  usual,  and, 
apparently,  fancying  that  she  was  edifying  a  large 
congregation  as  she  lay  bound  to  her  bed.  The  door 
of  this  second  chamber  was  open,  and  a  strange,  piti- 
ful sound  issued  from  it,  —  a  frightened  whimpering, 
and  pleading  words  in  a  low  trembling  voice. 

This  was  a  new  patient.  She  was  a  young  woman, 
with  large,  lustrous  eyes,  and  rich  hair  that  fell 
about  her ;  and  she  seemed  to  be  almost  paralyzed 
with  terror.  The  sister  and  the  nurse  were  trying 
to  soothe  her,  and  to  find  out  what  she  feared,  but 
could  understand  nothing.  When  Valeria  went  into 
the  room,  the  woman  caught  her  hand,  and  gazed  up 
into  her  face  with  those  large,  frightened  eyes. 

"  0  siguora,  what  shall  I  do  ?  0  signora  ! "  It  was 
all  that  she  would  'say  ;  but  she  clung  so  that  her  hold 
had  to  be  loosened,  finger  by  finger. 

"  She  is  another  one  who  will  not  eat,"  the  sister 
said. 

Valeria,  shivering,  hurried  away  as  soon  as  she  was 
free  from  that  grasp,  and  went  down-stairs.  The 
table  for  the  nurses  was  prepared  in  the  little  dining- 
room,  and  they  were  enjoying  an  hour  of  peace  and 
liberty  after  the  long  day  of  watchfulness,  to  be  fol- 
lowed, in  some  cases,  by  a  disturbed  night. 

Out-doors  all  the  world  was  radiant  with  moon- 
light, and  all  was  silent. 


378  BY  THE    TIBER. 

Valeria  went  down  through  the  garden,  touching 
the  flowers  as  she  went.  The  yellow  roses  showed  in 
that  light;  but  the  red  roses  were  known  only  by 
their  sweetness.  Wrapping  a  shawl  around  her,  she 
seated  herself  in  the  swing,  and  sat  there  looking 
about  and  thinking,  only  moving  the  swing  softly 
with  a  touch  now  and  then. 

Sister  Agnes  came  out,  and  ran  down  through  the 
trees  toward  the  bridge.  She  was  going  to  the  Com- 
munity to  supper ;  and,  the  day's  work  done,  the  nuns 
also  would  have  their  little  hour  of  recreation. 

"  If  there  is  a  letter  for  me,  bring  it  up  to-night, 
Suor  Agnes,"  Valeria  called  out. 

The  nun  assented,  and  hurried  on. 

She  sat  thinking  in  that  scene  of  enchantment, 
which  was  also  a  scene  of  despair,  till  the  sister  came 
up.  Then  she  went  to  her  chamber  and  read  the  let- 
ter that  was  brought  to  her.  Others  came  in  the 
morning.  Letters  and  papers  were  coming  fast  now ; 
and  they  all  told  the  same  story,  either  of  a  success 
which  might  have  been  sweet  to  her,  or  of  the  poison 
which  made  that  success  worse  than  a  failure.  Peo- 
ple liked  her  book,  smiling  faces  were  bending  over  it 
far  away ;  and  every  word  of  praise  was  a  feather  to 
the  arrow  of  a  lie.  People  would  look  up  with  pleas- 
ure at  sound  of  her  name,  and  would  listen  to  a  story 
to  make  the  smile  die  on  their  lips.  Hands  would  be 
half  outstretched,  then  coldly  withdrawn. 

It  was  not  a  great  book,  it  was  full  of  faults,  much 
of  it  had  been  written  in  pain  and  sickness ;  yet  it 
had  touched  kind  hearts  that  might  have  been  the 
hearts  of  friends,  but  for  "  these  bonds,"  more  cruel 
than  the  bonds  of  St.  Paul,  viler  than  the  bonds  of  a 
murderer. 

The  praises  that  she  had  hardly  dared  to  hope  for 
came  and  beat  upon  the  bars  of  her  prison,  and  fell 
broken  and  worthless  before  her.  Better  far  had  she 


HOME  AGAIN.  379 

been  the  most  obscure  person  on  earth  ;  for  then  no 
one  would  have  cared  to  know  her  story. 

She  read  these  notices  that  were  sent  her,  and 
dropped  them. 

Yet  there  were  times  when  they  drove  her  almost 
wild.  Was  there  no  one  in  that  far-off  land  of  her 
birth  who  would  have  opened  her  prison  doors,  if  he 
had  known  ?  If  she  should  send  all  her  story  to  tho 
journals,  and  call  on  the  American  public  for  protec- 
tion, would  they  not  demand  her  release  ? 

She  resisted  the  temptation  to  call  for  help,  and 
waited. 

This  struggle  could  not  continue  long  without  its 
effects  on  the  sufferer.  Perfectly  sound  in  health, 
without  any  malady,  and  gifted  with  an  appearance 
of  robustness,  Valeria  had  yet  a  sensitiveness  of  or- 
ganization that  left  her  body  at  the  mercy  of  her  mind. 
Sadness  became  a  malady,  and  fear  a  disease.  A  fit 
of  weeping  made  her  physically  ill ;  a  laugh  cured  her. 
She  felt  herself  growing  ill ;  and  as  her  courage  died 
her  strength  died.  Delight  would  have  snatched  her 
from  the  brink  of  the  grave ;  a  lie  could  push  her 
into  it. 

There  was  still  left  God  and  Nature ;  but  God  and 
Nature  are  companions  for  other  worlds,  as  well  as 
this.  • 

Little  by  little  she  dropped  her  writing.  Her  serial 
was  finished,  after  a  fashion  ;  and  she  could  not  begin 
anything  else.  She  felt  inclined  to  lie  still  and  sleep. 
Her  life  was  becoming  a  dream. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  out  into  the  city  ? "  the  sister 
asked.  "  You  stay  in  the  house  too  much." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  had  better  die,"  she 
replied.  "  I  don't  think  that  I  know  very  well  how 
to  live  in  the  world.  I  don't  feel  at  home  in  it." 

"Oh,  you  will  not  die!"  the  sister  exclaimed. 
"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you.  You  must 


380  BY  THE    TIBER. 

not  lose  courage.  •  It  is  impossible  that  you  can  be 
kept  here  much  longer.  I  think  that  you  will  go  in 
a  few  days.  Dress  yourself  now  and  come  out  into 
the  garden.  If  you  wish  to  go  into  the  city,  I  will  go 
down  and  get  you  a  pass." 

Valeria  shook  her  head,  but  suffered  herself  to  be 
helped  to  dress. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing ! "  she  said  suddenly  to  the 
sister  as  they  went  down-stairs.  "  Don't  let  any  of 
those  people  ever  come  near  me  under  any  circum- 
stances whatever.  Keep  them  all  away  from  me." 

"  They  shall  not  come  near  you.  But  they  will  not 
wish  to." 

"  If  I  died,  they  might.  They  would  come  and  look 
me  over  just  as  if  they  were  friends.  Listen  to  what 
one  of  them  did.  There  was  an  American  lady  who 
died  a  few  years  ago  in  Rome.  She  was  on  unpleas- 
ant terms  with  that  Miss  Crankey  whom  you  saw  here 
with  Mrs.  Harwood,  and  who  was  never  received  by 
her.  But  as  soon  as  the  lady  was  dead,  Miss  Crankey 
went  to  ^her  house,  —  there  was  no  relative  to  keep 
her  out,  —  and  went  into  every  room  of  it.  The  mis- 
tress of  the  house  was  in  her  coffin  on  the  floor.  That 
woman  stood  and  looked  at  the  coffin,  as  at  any  other 
piece  of  furniture,  commented  upon  it,  said  that  the 
occupant  was  older  than  she  owned,  and  gossiped 
about  everything.  It  was  horrible.  Don't  let  them 
come  near  me ! " 

"  They  shall  not,"  the  sister  promised.  "  But  cheer 
up !  You  are  not  going  to  die." 

"  Feel  my  hand  :  it  is  hot.  And  see  my  tongue : 
it  was  all  white  this  morning.  I  have  fever  again ; 
and  this  is  the  third  time." 

The  sister  stopped.  "  You  ought  to  go  back  to  bed," 
she  said.  "  I  will  call  the  doctor." 

"  No ;  let  me  go  out  once  again.  You  may  call  the 
doctor,  though,  if  you  like." 


HOME  AGAIN.  381 

She  went  out  into  the  garden,  which  was  glitterin<* 
with  a  splendid  drench  of  dew  that  the  sun  had  heated, 
but  not  yet  dried,  and,  wandering  down  by  the  terraces] 
began  to  gather  flowers.  Every  day  she  fastened  her 
collar  with  flowers ;  and  if  she  wore  a  veil,  it  was 
pinned  on  with  a  rose. 

First  came  large  yellow  roses,  pale  and  pure  ;  then, 
against  the  wall,  roses  of  a  lovely  pink ;  and,  last  of 
all,  growing  so  high  up  in  a  corner  that  one  had  to 
pull  the  branches  down  with  a  cane,  roses  of  so  dark 
a  velvet  red  as  to  be  almost  purple,  and  so  fragrant 
that  all  the  air  about  was  heavy  with  the  breath  of 
them. 

Large  scented  dew-drops  rolled  down  as  the  stems 
were  pulled  ;  every  green  leaf  was  set  round  with  a 
thick  row  of  tiny  drops  ;  the  rose-thorns,  large  and  of 
a  light  transparent  crimson,  seemed  to  be  full  of  blood ; 
an  intense,  full  life  breathed  in  everything. 

Valeria  went  back  to  the  little  garden,  where  the 
ladies  of  the  house  were.  It  was  one  of  the  visiting 
days,  and  there  were  two  or  three  strangers  staring 
about  them,  and  making  comments  with  as  much  free- 
dom as  if  they  were  examining  the  wares  iu  a  shop. 

One  of  the  patients  of  the  second  class  came  to 
Valeria,  and,  pointing  over  her  shoulder,  said,  — 

"These  people  come  here  afid  look  at  us  quite  with 
an  air  of  superiority.  They  seem  to  think  that  it  is 
not  necessary  to  treat  us  with  good  manners.  I  shall 
go  to  my  room." 

She  went ;  and"  one  of  the  visitors,  thinking  from 
Valeria's  veil  and  shawl,  and  from  her  being  unat- 
tended, that  she  also  was  a  visitor,  came  to  ask  her 
some  questions  about  the  place. 

Who  was  this  lady  ?  Who  that  ?  Were  they  vio- 
lent, or  dangerous  ?  And  what  did  they  say  ? 

Valeria  replied  with  some  reserve. 

"  Is  either  of  those  ladies  insane  ? "  pursued  her 


382  BY  THE   TIBER. 

questioner,  pointing  to  where  the  Duchess  sat  talking 
with  a  friend. 

A  mischievous  impulse  seized  Valeria,  and  she  rep- 
resented the  visitor  as  the  patient  and  the  patient  as 
the  visitor. 

The  lady  watched  the  two  eagerly.  "  Yes,  one  sees 
that  she  is  queer,"  she  said,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  un- 
lucky visitor.  "  There  is  a  certain  wild  light  in  the 
eyes  of  an  insane  person  which  can  never  be  mis- 
taken. And  how  oddly  she  pulls  at  her  dress  !  Such 
a  dress,  too  !  Does  she  ever  rave  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  does," 
Valeria  replied  gravely.  "  But  the  other  lady  has  a 
very  pleasant  manner,  don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  She  is  exceedingly  graceful  and  affable,"  the  lady 
said,  gazing  at  the  Duchess. 

"  You  perceive  the  difference  in  their  eyes  at  once." 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  ! " 

The  sister  beckoned  from  the  house-door,  and  Vale- 
ria went  to  the  anteroom  and  found  the  doctor  waiting 
there. 

"  Why  did  you  not  remain  in  bed,  and  call  me 
earlier  ?  "  he  asked  almost  angrily,  after  having  felt 
her  pulse,  and  looked  at  her  tongue.  "  You  must  go 
to  bed  at  once." 

She  looked  at  him  attentively.  His  face  was  very 
much  disturbed.  "  Give  me  five  minutes,  and  then  I 
will  go,"  she  said ;  and,  without  waiting  for  his  per- 
mission, ran  down  a  side  door  to  the  veranda,  and  out 
into  the  garden. 

One  more  look  upon  the  beautiful  earth  before  the 
bars  of  her  windows  should  stamp  their  crosses  on 
earth  and  sky  !  One  more  glance  at  a  summer  cloud 
with  nothing  between  them  but  the  air !  One  more 
unfettered  breeze  straight  out  of  heaven  into  her  face  ! 
Once  more  with  her  feet  on  the  blessed  green  grass ! 

"  Oh,  merciful  Christ,  it  is  hard  to  give  them  up  !" 


HOME  AGAIN.  383 

She  caught  the  dew-wet  rose-vines  against  her  fore- 
head. 

"  Sweetest  Nature,  can  you  not  save  me  ?  " 

She  bent  and  gathered  a  daisy  from  the  grass  under 
her  feet ;  then  looked  off  over  the  city  that  had  killed 
her  and  to  the  mountains.  "  I  will  look  up  to  the 
hills  whence  help  cometh." 

If  help  should  come  now,  she  might  live.  With  hope, 
her  heart  was  strong  enough  to  face  twenty  fevers. 

There  was  no  help  in  that  hour. 

"  Come,  signora  !"  called  the  sister. 

"  You  must  not  stay  out  here  in  the  damp,"  the 
doctor  said,  passing  by. 

Valeria  cast  one  more  glance  over  the  world,  and  in 
that  glance  her  heart  broke. 

She  turned  and  sank  into  the  sister's  arms.  There 
was  no  more  resistance.  They  might  do  with  her  as 
they  pleased. 

She  asked  to  see  a  confessor  when  she  had  gone  to 
bed,  and  taken  the  quinine  that  was  ordered  for  her. 

"  I  want  him  to-day,"  she  said,  naming  the  one  she 
chose.  "  He  knows  me  well.  It  won't  be  so  necessary 
for  me  to  talk  much  to  him  as  to  Don  Domenico.  If 
I  am  to  take  quinine,  I  must  not  put  anything  off; 
for  quinine  confuses  my  mind.  And,  Sister  Agnes, 
put  the  curtaiu  down,  and  never  raise  it  again." 

At  first  she  did  not  seem  to  be  in  danger.  Her 
danger  was  in  there  being  no  resistance  on  her  o\vu 
part  to  the  malady.  She  was  like  one  who  lies  down 
and  drowns  in  shallow  water. 

And  that  she  was  drowning  they  saw  in  a  few  days. 
All  that  skill  and  kindness  could  do  was  in  vain. 
She  only  lay  there  and  let  herself  die. 

One  day  —  it  was  May  now  —  the  sister  came  to 
say  that  a  young  girl  wished  to  come  in,  and  would 
take  no  denial. 

Valeria  assented  faintly. 


384  BY  THE    TIBER. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  girl  entered,  dressed  in 
"black,  and  wearing  a  black  veil  on  her  head.  She 
hastened  to  the  bed,  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  it, 
and  seizing  Valeria's  hand,  kissed  and  wept  over  it. 

At  a  sign,  the  sister  drew  aside  the  heavy  curtain 
before  the  dressing-room,  and  the  red  light  from  the 
western  window  inside  shone  over  the  glossy  black 
hair  strewn  on  the  counterpane. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Valeria  ;  then,  as  the  face  was 
raised  into  that  light,  she  added  after  a  moment : 
"  llosa  Prenestina  ! " 

"  Papa  has  heard  ! "  the  girl  whispered.  "  He  says 
that  he  can  take  you  out  of  here.  He  understands." 
She  looked  eagerly  into  Valeria's  face. 

"  No,  dear,  your  father  can  do  nothing.  God  is 
taking  me  out  of  here." 

"  The  Signor  Eduardo  is  in  Palestrina.  He  has  just 
gone  there,"  Rosa  said  breathlessly.  "  I  have  been 
with  my  aunt  in  Rome ;  but  I  will  go  to  Palestrina 
to-morrow.  He  will  come  here  to  see  you." 

"  No  ;  it  is  too  late." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  him  for  you  ?  "  asked  Rosa  amid 
her  tears. 

"  Say  addio  !  " 

The  sister  interposed,  and  drew  the  weeping  girl 
away,  and  Valeria  sank  again  into  the  dreamy  half- 
sleep  from  which  the  visit  had  roused  her.  Steps 
entered  the  room,  but  she  did  not  hear  them  ;  there 
were  low  voices,  and  a  sound  of  prayer.  They  did  not 
touch  her. 

She  was  wandering  along  a  road  in  New  England 
where  she  had  often  walked  in  childhood  through  her 
father's  woods.  They  stretched  eastward  from  the 
town  in  hundreds  of  acres  that  no  man's  memory  and 
no  history  of  man  had  ever  seen  other  than  now, 
a  stately  growth  of  primeval  forests.  A  thread  of  a 
brook  ran  along  beside  the  path.  She  watched  it  as 


HOME  AGAIN.  385 

she  walked,  and  stooped  now  and  then  for  the  little 
gold-colored  violets  that  grew  beside  it.  And  there 
was  pennyroyal  too.  She  must  gather  some  of  that 
to  take  home  to  mother. 

The  prayers  for  the  dying  were  being  recited  for 
her  in  Rome ;  but  she  knew  nothing  of  them.  She 
was  in  New  England,  and  she  was  a  child.  Love, 
protection,  utter  safety,  all  that  make  the  home  of 
childhood,  gathered  themselves  about  her.  They  were 
close  by,  beyond  the  trees. 

"  I  like  to  walk  in  this  road,"  she  said  aloud. 
A  voice   disturbed   her,   though  it   was  low   and 
gentle,  —  a  voice  used  to  speaking  on  the  shore  of 
life,  where  the  waves  of  eternity  come  up  and  fill  the 
ears  of  the  dying  as  with  the  murmur  of  sea-shells. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  take  this  solemn  journey  ? " 
asked  the  priest. 

She  roused  herself  a  little. 

"  A  journey  ?  Does  it  cost  much  ?  I  have  n't  money 
enough  for  a  journey." 

"  It  costs  only  love  and  penitence,"  the  priest  said, 
with  impressive  slowness. 

She  sighed  with  relief,  and  let  the  momentary  care 
slip ;  and,  turning  her  cheek  to  the  pillow,  her  head 
drooped  a  little. 

"  I  have  love  enough  ! "  she  said. 
There  was  a  pause.     She  sighed  again  ;  and  more 
faintly  —  "  I  have  penitence  enough  !  "  she  whispered. 
The  priest  bent  suddenly  forward,  and  called  out  in 
a  clear,  penetrating  voice,  "  Jesu  !  Maria !  " 

The  Heavenly  Ones  stood  by  her  as  their  names  were 
called  out  with  all  the  passion  of  a  consecrated  soul 
that  in  that  instant  performed  its  most  solemn  func- 
tion. Yet  they  did  not  corne  to  her  in  Rome,  but  to 
the  silent  woods  of  New  England.  And  as  they  found 
her,  so  they  led  her  away,  a  child,  with  her  hands  full 
of  violets  and  pennyroyal. 
25 


386  BY  THE    TIBER. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"SAID  THE  NORTH  TO  THE  SOUTH." 

IT  was  a  sunny  May  morning  in  Palestrina,  and 
Rosa  Bandini,  who  had  arrived  the  evening 
before  from  Rome,  was  at  the  old  palace  with  her 
father. 

Marco  had  been  ill  of  fever  all  winter,  with  a  re- 
lapse in  the  spring ;  but  he  was  coming  back  to  life 
again  now,  —  the  life  of  a  broken  old  man. 

"  Never  speak  of  Vittorio  to  any  one,"  he  had  said 
to  Rosa.  "  If  people  question  you,  do  not  answer  a 
word.  Look  at  them,  and  shut  your  lips.  We  shall 
never  see  him  again." 

She  understood  him.  She  never  spoke ;  she  only 
wept. 

But  when  with  the  spring  her  father  grew,  better, 
and  she  saw  that  he  would  be  spared  to  her,  a  faifit 
color  began  to  come  back  to  her  face,  and  sometimes 
a  faint  smile  flickered  over  her  lips.  You  cannot  beat 
a  summer  brook  to  death  while  it  hangs  only  half- 
way down  the  mountain-side,  so  long  as  it  has  a  rock 
to  dance  over,  and  sees  the  plain  below ;  nor  can  you 
crush  a  young  heart  that  is  still  on  the  morning 
heights  of  life,  while  it  rests  on  a  firm  basis  of  house- 
hold love  and  protection,  and  can  still  see  through  its 
tears  the  vision  of  a  possible  delight  in  the  future. 

Rosa  was  saddened  then,  but  not  broken. 

The  Signor  Eduardo  was  in  the  Tempietto,  painting. 
She  had  seen  him  come  up  early  in  the  morning,  and 
heard  his  step  on  the  stair;  and  before  his  model 
should  come,  she  was  going  up  to  speak  to  him. 
There  was  no  difficulty  in  her  going  up  alone ;  for 
beside  the  confidence  which  he  inspired  in  all  about 


"SAID   THE  NORTH  TO  THE  SOUTH."        387 

him,  Rosa  had  now  much  more  liberty  than  Italian 
girls  usually  have.  Her  father  would  not  allow  her 
to  be  fettered,  and  was  troubled  only  at  seeing  how 
little  she  cared  for  liberty. 

What  motive  it  was  which  had  made  the  girl  as- 
sume her  contadina  dress  that  morning,  she  would 
have  found  it  hard  to  tell.  She  had  not  worn  it  for 
a  year,  not  since  she  had  seen  the  Dane  the  summer 
before.  But  now  she  arrayed  herself  in  the  dark  blue 
corsets  and  petticoat,  and  white  camicia,  and  draped 
a  rose-colored  kerchief  over  her  shoulders.  It  was 
half  pride  and  half  fear  which  actuated  her.  He 
must  not  think  that  she  was  trying  to  play  the  lady, 
and  so  laugh  at  her  perhaps ;  and  she  must  not  really 
play  the  lady,  and  make  him  forget,  and  then  be  an- 
noyed afterward.  In  her  corsets  and  neckerchief  she 
was  herself. 

Yet  her  heart  beat  hard  as  she  went  up  the  stair, 
and  stepped  out  into  the  crescent-shaped  garden,  with 
its  wild  luxuriance  of  dewy  grass  and  weeds,  and  its 
broken  statues,  and  her  hand  trembled  as  she  pulled 
the  latch-string  of  the  gate  that  led  into  the  enclosure 
outside  the  last  story  of  the  palace.  A  door  stood 
open  into  this  enclosure.  She  crossed  a  ruined  cham- 
ber, and  stood  in  the  door  of  the  Tempietto,  with  the 
painter  at  his  easel  before  her,  and  a  sunny  world 
behind  his  figure  for  a  background. 

He  was  very  intent  upon  the  painting  of  a  ragged 
boy  who,  on  being  caught  by  the  gardener,  must  look 
up  from  the  Jinocchio  he  was  down  on  his  knees  to 
steal,  with  a  certain  mixture  of  bravado,  deprecation, 
innocence,  and  confusion  not  easy  to  combine  in  one 
small  face,  and  he  did  not  look  to  see  whose  step  it 
was  in  the  door ;  taking  for  granted,  moreover,  that 
the  boy-model  had  come. 

Kosa  stood  and  looked  at  him.  The  morning  light 
seemed  to  shine  through  his  pure,  pale  face ;  and  it 


388  BY  THE    TIBER. 

steeped  in  a  soft  gold  his  fair  hair  and  beard.  Never 
had  he  seemed  to  her  so  glorious.  As  he  stood,  a 
dark  blue  wall  of  far-off  mountain  was  behind  his 
head  ;  and  she  thought  that  if  some  new  great  master 
should  want  to  paint  an  angel,  he  should  paint  the 
Sign  or  Eduardo. 

•  Come  here,  now  ! "  the  painter  said,  without  look- 
ing away  from  his  work. 

Rosa  understood  his  mistake ;  but  she  went  toward 
him  without  a  word. 

The  figure  struck  him,  probably,  as  too  tall  for  his 
boy-model,  for  he  looked  up  quickly,  and  uttered  an 
exclamation.  Then,  smiling,  he  laid  down  his  palette 
and  brushes,  and  rose  and  went  to  meet  her,  and  took 
her  hand,  and,  breathing  quickly  with  a  glad  agita- 
tion, looked  into  her  downcast  face,  and  waited  for 
her  to  speak,  or  for  her  present  image,  to  take  its 
place  in  his  mind  before  he  could  speak.  He  had 
only  pronounced  her  name,  and  she  had  not  uttered  a 
word.  She  stood  drooping,  half  with  bashfuluess, 
half  with  sorrow,  and  moved,  too,  by  a  little  flutter  of 

j°y- 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Rosa,"  the  painter  said. 

She  cast  an  eloquent  glance  upward  to  his  face, 
smiled  in  a  swift  flash  of  light  across  her  trouble  and 
her  tears,  and  then  said,  while  her  eyes  drooped  again, 
"  I  have  a  message  for  you  from  Madama  Valeria." 

"  Madama  "Valeria  ? "  he  repeated,  with  a  momen- 
tary doubt.  Then,  "  Oh,  the  American  who  was  here 
last  summer !  Where  is  she  ? " 

Rosa  went  to  lean  on  the  parapet.  She  felt  a  need 
of  support  He  followed  her,  and  she  told  her  story. 
But  while  expressing  his  sorrow  and  his  sympathy 
with  her,  there  was  ever  an  undercurrent  of  delight 
in  watching  that  sweet,  ingenuous  face,  now  over- 
flowed by  a  shower  of  tears,  now  lighted  by  a  swift 
smile,  and  the  lustrous  dark  eyes,  that  were  lifted  for 


"SAW    THE  NORTH  TO   THE  SOUTH."        389 

a  moment  in  self-forgetful  earnestness,  then  dropped 
in  self-conscious  modesty  under  his  steady  gaze. 

The  boy-model  came,  and  waited  all"  imheeded  ; 
and,  finding  the  couple  so  engrossed,  seated  himself 
on  the  pavement,  and  cast  longing  eyes  on  the  brushes 
and  colors,  and  on  a  certain  pencil  sketch  of  himself, 
and  wondered  how  much  he  could  sell  any  one  of 
these  articles  for,  if  he  should  slip  it  under  his  rags 
while  those  two  stood  shut  in  by  a  golden  wall  of 
love.  For  little  Beppo  had  heard  of  love,  and  already 
fancied  that  he  saw  it  whenever  his  eyes  fell  on  a 
man  and  woman  talking  together.  To  his  mind, 
there  were  but  two  subjects  which  could  occupy 
them :  love  and  stealing.  These  two  persons,  being 
enormously  rich  in  his  estimation,  could  not  be  plan- 
ning how  to  get  somebody's  money.  They  were, 
therefore,  talking  about  love. 

The  story  was  told,  the  comments  were  made  upon 
it,  the  mutual  questions  which  friends  who  have  not 
met  for  a  year  ask  each  other  had  been  answered,  and 
they  stood  leaning  on  the  parapet  in  silence.  The 
sun  came  round  to  them,  and  Kosa  moved  to  the 
shadow  of  the  pillar  near,  and  half  turned  to  go. 

"  Stay ! "  said  the  painter  suddenly.  "  I  want  to 
see  you  a  little  longer.  I  will  send  this  boy  away, 
for  I  don't  need  him  this  morning." 

Turning  to  address  his  model,  the  Signer  Eduardo 
saw  him  slip  a  brush  into  one  of  the  many  loopholes 
in  his  vesture,  and  surprised  also  on  his  face  the  very 
expression  he  wanted  for  lusfinocchio  stealer;  but  he 
not  only  seemed  unaware  of  the  disappearing  brush, 
he  did  not  stop  to  catch  that  precious  medley  of 
expressions. 

"  Come  this  afternoon,"  he  said ;  and  the  boy  slid 
swiftly  away,  as  though  he  had  been  snapped  off  the 
finger-nail  of  the  hand  that  only  waved  itself  toward 
him. 


390  BY  THE    TIBER. 

"  Eosa,  are  you  willing  to  be  my  wife  ?  "  asked  the 
Dane,  facing  his  companion  again,  and  sending  the 
words  out  witli  the  suddenness  of  a  heart-throb. 

She  looked  up  with  a  startled  glance  and  a  swift 
momentary  pallor;  then  dropped  her  eyes  with  as 
swift  a  blush. 

"  Oh,  Signer  Eduardo!"  she  said,  and  choked  a  little, 
then  burst  into  tears. 

"  That  means  yes  ! "  said  the  painter,  and  laid  his 
hand  softly  on  her  hair,  and  smoothed  it  half  timidly, 
as  if  he  had  never  before  touched  a  woman's  hair,  and 
knew  not  well  what  wonderful  thing  would  happen  to 
his  hand  in  touching  it. 

"  Of  course  it  is  yes,  if  you  really  mean  it,"  said 
Eosa,  laughing  through  her  tears  and  blushes.  "  I 
shall  be  so  happy  !  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  I  do 
not  understand  how  you  can  think  me  good  enough. 
I  will  do  all  I  can  to  please  you." 

Earnest  little  simpleton !  who  did  not  know  that 
to  be  herself,  and  to  stand  there  all  tender  blushes 
and  sunlighted  tears,  was  to  please  him  more  than 
words  could  tell. 

The  sun  touched  the  meridian,  and  set  all  the  town 
bells  ringing  for  the  vigil  of  Pentecost,  and  showed  a 
curve  of  bright  sea  between  the  southern  mountains, 
and  gilded  the  rough  stones,  and  filled  the  empty 
places  with  light,  and  set  a  glittering  frame  around 
the  cool  shadows,  and  glorified  all  this  scene  in  which 
two,  at  least,  of  God's  creatures  were  happy. 

And  the  sunlight,  like  all  things  in  nature,  was 
but  a  sign  repeating  ever  to  our  forgetful  human  souls 
how 

"  God's  greatness 
Flows  around  our  incompleteness; 
Round  our  restlessness,  His  rest." 


Messrs.   Roberts    Brothers    Publications. 


THE  NO  NAME  (SECOND)  SEEIES, 

SlGNOR  MONALDINI'S  NIECE. 

Extracts  from  some  Opinions  by  wdl-known  Authors. 

"We  have  read  '  Signor  Monaldini's  Niece'  with  intensest 
interest  and  delight.  The  style  is  finished  and  elegant,  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  book  is  enchanting.  We  seem  to  have  lived  in 
Italy  while  we  were  reading  it.  The  author  has  delineated  with  a 
hand  as  steady  as  it  is  powerful  and  skilful  some  phases  of  human 
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marvellous  success.  We  think  this  volume  by  far  the  finest  of 
the  No  Name  Series." 

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and  higher  natures.  It  is  all  so  dramatic  and  full  of  color  it  goes 
on  like  a  lovely  play  and  leaves  one  out  of  breath  when  the  cur- 
tain falls." 

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as  ever.  .  .  .  The  characterization  in  it  is  capital,  and  the  talk 
wonderfully  well  done  from  first  to  last." 

"  The  new  No  Name  is  enchanting.  It  transcends  the  ordinary 
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Miss  Conroy  and  Mrs.  Brandon  that  is  really  of  most  importance 
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Brandon  in  her  circle." 

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THREE    NEW    NOVELS 

BY   THREE  OF   THE   MOST   POPULAR    "  NO    NAME  "   AUTHORS. 


THE  HEAD   OF  MEDUSA.     By  GEORGE  FLEMING,  author 
of  "  Kismet  "  and  "Mirage." 

II. 

BY    THE    TIBER.      By   the    author   of    "  Signor   Monaldini's 
Niece." 

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BLESSED    SAINT    CERTAINTY.      By  the   author  of  "His 
Majesty,  Myself." 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
Boston. 


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